07:21 pm - BURN, Chapter 76
Hi Burniacs, posting for big b. Enjoy and have a great Easter!!!! Ran

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


Bellamy felt dirty.

Sex was usually a welcome release for him. Sex was a pleasant way to connect with another 
human being on a primal level, without a lot of intellectual or emotional bullshit. Sometimes it 
got complicated, yes, but he tried to avoid that trap. Occasionally, rarely, it made him feel bad 
about himself and this was one of those times. Afterwards, he was quick to shower, dress, and 
was pulling his look together while she languished in the rumpled bed. Her relaxed demeanor 
was a direct counterpoint to his tension. 

They were at the most expensive hotel in the city. Discrete bungalows surrounded a central 
courtyard. Each suite had a sitting room and a private terrace. The hotel was old. Men of 
Bellamy’s race were only able to stay there, rather than merely work there, since 1974. Before 
that, the ruse of a private club kept the discrimination laws at bay. Staying there without feeling 
endangered or unwelcome was a more recent nuance. Service was impeccable. The staff was 
sworn to discretion. At a thousand dollars and up for one night, only the wealthy could afford to 
play here for an afternoon, but many of them did. She already had the room reserved, and had 
paid for it, so this was where they met. He didn’t even try to do the gentlemanly thing of offering 
to pick up the cost.

Fuck it.

She could afford it and he wouldn’t have chosen such a hedonistic site for a simple romp. No 
pussy was worth that, especially not hers. She was beautiful, yes, and she got into it well enough, 
but the whole time they were in bed together, he felt like he was playing a role for her and she 
had failed to share the script. Now he just wanted to leave, to get on with his life. The thrill was 
gone. 

“What’s your rush, Councilman?” she purred from the sheets, allowing one shapely leg to escape 
cover.

“I have a job,” he responded, glancing at her image in the mirror, over his shoulder, but not 
turning around. “Shit to do.”

“You have shit to do here.”

“I meant work.”

“I mean work, too.”

He turned, his green eyes closing into slits as he focused on her pretty face. “What the hell does 
that mean? I’m not your Mandingo, lady.”

She laughed and patted the mattress beside her. “Don’t get all uppity on me, now.”

Bellamy turned away and slipped on his sunglasses. “That was the wrong thing to say.”

“You have absolutely no sense of humor!”

“Do you consider that funny?”

“I do.”

“You’re wrong.”

“You’re a politician, Bellamy, not a saint. Don’t try to set yourself up to me as some kind of 
water walker. I grew up with politicians sucking up to my daddy for favors. Governors, senators, 
hell, even presidents came calling with their hands out. I know your ambitions go beyond New 
Orleans. I know my brother’s been trying to get you behind some half-baked idea of his, and I 
also know that you make a move against sugar and Louisiana will turn you out without a slap on 
your black ass. Do you know how many people in this area depend upon sugar for their 
livelihood? Do you know how tightly men like my daddy control the most powerful committees 
on the hill in Washington?”

“I know the times are changing, Luann. I know sugar gets less important with each change. I 
know nothing is forever. And I know what’s right and what’s wrong, which is more than I can 
say for men like your father.”

“And you’re perfect? Not to mention my brother. He’s queer, you do know that, don’t you? That 
Yankee guy he hangs with is more than a friend, if you know what I mean.”

Bellamy laughed. “I’m well aware that Boyd and Brian are partners, Luann. I’m not an idiot. 
And they’re not secretive about it. I was raised by a gay couple, I support gay rights, even gay 
marriage. That’s their business, not mine. Or yours.”

“The point is, no fag is going to exert any power with the decision makers on the Hill. Politicians 
are terrified of queers, or of being viewed as gay-friendly.”

Bellamy smiled at that. “How naïve you really are.”

“You’re a smart man, Bellamy. Everyone says so. You’ve made smart career decisions so far. 
Don’t get stupid now.”

“What are you offering me, Luann?”

“What is Boyd offering you?”

“Like you said, I’m a smart man. I wouldn’t be if I told you that, now would I?”

“Then he is offering you something?”

He paused at the door. “If you say so.”

“He can’t offer you this, unless, of course, you take after your esteemed father and prefer dick to 
this,” she threw back the linens, revealing her naked body to him. Bellamy gazed at her well-
maintained shape, and then shrugged.

“I never thought I had any inclination in that direction, Luann. But it’s funny. Right now, if 
someone told me I had to choose between you or Boyd, I think your brother might have the 
inside track.”

“You asshole!” She threw a pillow in his direction, but he walked out and closed the door just 
before it hit. He punched in a number on his mobile as he walked towards his office. The noise 
and smells and bustle of New Orleans was just what he needed right now to purge this mistake 
from his brain.

“Hi, Bellamy,” Daphne said with such perkiness that he had to wince at his own bad behavior.

“Let’s go out tonight.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I already have a date.”

He tensed. Why did that bother him? “With whom? That kid who plays with vampires?”

“No, not with Moody.”

“Then who?”

She giggled. “Bellamy, I don’t have to tell you everything.”

“Where are you going?”

“Same answer.”

“Don’t game me, Daphne.”

“Game you?” She giggled again. “I’m not wearing your ring. I can date whomever I choose.”

“Will you be late?”

“Don’t go showing up at my house again, it’s creepy.”

“Then come over to my house.”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ll have such a great time, I won’t want to come over to your house.”

He wasn’t in the mood for this. “Do what you want, I have another call. Goodbye, Daphne.”

“See ya. Or not.”

He cursed as he hung up and almost walked into a donkey cart, stopping just before he did so, 
letting it wheel past. “Hello?” His second caller said,

“Hello, son. I just want you to make your own plans for dinner, I’m seeing a friend,” Charles 
trilled in his ear. Bellamy didn’t like that either. He thought if Daphne was tied up, at least he 
could enjoy dinner with his mother. 

“Alright, see you when you get home.”

“Don’t wait up!”

Was everybody having more fun than he was? He walked into the City Hall and climbed the 
wide marble stairs to his office, determined to distract himself with work. It was quiet on 
Saturday, he could get some things cleared off his desk. And maybe give his recent behavior a 
little quiet introspection.

******

“Where are you?” Boyd asked Brian when he answered his call to his cell phone. 

“I’m at the hotel. Where are you?”

“Walking up the stairs at the hotel.”

“Thanks for the warning. Moody! Put on your clothes! Boyd’s on his way!”

Boyd heard Moody laugh in the background. “Am I supposed to think that this couldn’t be 
happening?” Boyd teased.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, you are supposed to think that.”

Boyd walked into the room, still smiling. He closed the door and his phone, both, as he focused 
on Brian, who was stretched out, fully clothed, on the bed. Moody was on the terrace, drinking 
coffee. He wiggled his fingers at Boyd, who waved back and flopped down on the bed beside his 
partner. “And you brought Moody back to the room because?”

“Because it’s his birthday and he’s feeling a little disconnected. I was so happy about the work 
Sebastian did at the house that I was feeling uncharacteristically generous.”

Boyd smiled and kissed his lover. “Just how uncharacteristically generous were you feeling, Mr. 
Kinney?” He let his hand smooth up and down Brian’s abs.

“Now that wouldn’t be particularly ‘uncharacteristic’, would it?”

Boyd laughed and pinched his lover’s nipple. “What are you doing out there, Moody? Come join 
us.”

“Oh goody, a three way, and it’s his birthday, not mine!” Brian observed, moaning as Boyd’s 
elbow dug into his side. Moody stretched out on the other side of Boyd, plumping a pillow 
behind his head.

“Are we going to paint each other’s toenails and talk about boys like my sisters used to do at 
their sleepovers? Because you guys have sworn off the good stuff.”

Brian laughed. “I think painting toenails and talking about boys sounds pretty damned hot. So 
long as we’re all naked.”

Boyd glanced over at Moody. “Are you past jail bait, now?”

“Clever, Boyd,” Moody growled in response. 

“You want to watch us?” 

Brian hauled up on his elbows to stare at Boyd. “Did you get a personality transplant while you 
were at the aquarium? And where are your kids? Did the sharks eat them?”

Boyd laughed and pushed Brian back against the pillows. “It was the albino alligators. My sister 
and Petra wanted to keep them tonight, to give us some time together. Tomorrow’s Sunday, so 
no school. Jane’s agreed to negotiate early entry into the Marigny school, where we enrolled 
them for next semester. She says she knows people there and I’m going with that. I figured we’d 
go back to Canard Rouge tomorrow, I’d withdraw the kids from school on Monday, we’d pack 
up at the B&B and move into the city.”

“One little thing. Don’t you have a job?”

“I do.”

“And isn’t it in Canard Rouge?”

“No, the plant is in Canard Rouge. I have a plan about the job.”

Brian leaned over Boyd’s torso to say to Moody, “See what I mean about the value of a plan?”

“Are you guys always this boring?”

Brian remembered the jet. “Not always.”

“I have to go. I have a tour tonight, birthday or not. And I’m spinning at the club, if I still have a 
job after that stunt you pulled at lunch.”

“Stunt?” Boyd asked. Brian looked uneasy.

“I kissed him. It’s his birthday, you know, and I don’t like rules. I don’t like the fact those 
vampires think they can dictate your love life just because they want to play around in your body 
fluids.”

“So you kissed him?”

“On the mouth, hard. It was hot,” Moody grinned as he stood in the doorway. “See you guys. 
Thanks again, Brian.”

“Yeah, thanks for the payback.”

“Okay,” Boyd said when they were alone. “You take him out to lunch, you kiss him, ‘hard, hot’, 
and bring him back to the hotel? Am I an idiot?”

“No, I am. He’s cute. And nothing happened.”

Boyd kissed him. “Regret it?”

“Sure, why not? Maybe you should give him to me for my birthday.”

“Or maybe not,” Boyd teased. “Open a door and in walks the devil.”

“But he looks angelic enough.”

“You didn’t look long enough.”

“Don’t be too sure.”

“I’m warning you, Brian…”

“What? You going to beat me up?” Brian teased as Boyd rolled over him, pinning him to the bed 
with that superior strength he usually kept in check. Brian grinned up at him as Boyd warned,

“Maybe I’ll just have my way with you, instead.”

“You promise but you never deliver,” Brian egged him on. Boyd kissed him again, determined to 
prove him wrong.

**** 

Showered, still naked, debating about whether they wanted to go out for dinner or have 
something delivered, Boyd and Brian were interrupted by a knock on their door. When Pearl 
called out to them, Boyd slid under the covers and Brian pulled on a robe as he went over to 
respond.

“Is this a bad time?” She glanced past him to Boyd, who smiled.

“No,” Brian said. “The deed is done. For now. What’s up?”

She walked in and sat on the edge of their bed. The intimacy didn’t bother any of them. “My son 
called and asked me to have dinner with him.”

“That’s nice.”

“No, Brian. That’s strange.”

“Nice in a strange way.”

“What could he want?”

“Maybe it’s an outstretched hand, Pearl.”

“That’s not Bellamy’s style.”

“There’s one way to find out.”

“What’s that?”

“Go.”

She glared. “Very droll. Why don’t you two go with us?”

“No,” they said in unison.

“I don’t think your kid would like that very much,” Brian pointed out to her. “He obviously 
wants to have dinner alone with you. So go.”

“I hope it isn’t something dire.”

“Why would it be something dire? We just saw Bellamy and he was fine.”

“You’re right, I’m being silly. What are you two doing, other than the obvious?”

“We thought we’d get a bite to eat somewhere, go clubbing and then have some semi-public sex 
together in a back room. Sound good?”

She laughed and spread a hand on Brian’s cheek. “Sounds incorrigible. So you. Enjoy your 
evening. I’ll go see what mine will bring.”

“If you see us in the back room, act like you don’t know us. We’re going to play the ‘picking up 
a strange trick’ game, like we don’t who we are.”

“Brian!” Boyd groaned, as Pearl stood and crossed over to the door.

“Role playing can be fun. Enjoy it. Just make sure the trick you pick up is the right one. It’s dark 
back there, right?”

Brian laughed. “Not a problem. I know him by smell.”

“I think I’ve been mildly insulted,” Boyd winced, but Pearl laughed.

“It’s a compliment. Part of the visceral connection between you two.”

“Relax, Pearl,” Brian counseled as he walked to the door with her. “Maybe it’s a good thing.”

“Maybe. Goodnight, cher,” she kissed his cheek and he watched her walk next door before he 
shut the door and turned to Boyd.

“What do you think he’s up to?”

Boyd shrugged. “I think it’s none of our business,” he reached for his mobile as it chirped at an 
incoming text message. He opened the screen and looked confused. “Why is Luann sending me a 
picture?”

Brian fell back beside him, gazing over his shoulder at the small screen as the photo downloaded. 
“I give up. Why?”

“I don’t know. The message said, “You’re such a fool.”

“Nice.”

The photo gradually digitalized to show a clear scene of Brian leaning across the table, kissing 
Moody. “Shit, is she having me followed?”

Boyd stared at the handsome couple and then pushed delete. “I don’t know. That’s disquieting, 
though, isn’t it?”

“More than that.”

“Yes, more.”

“Boyd, you know it was nothing, right?”

Boyd reached over to kiss his lover. “I know. But imagine if we hadn’t talked and it came in 
cold. I’m not saying I’d automatically think the worst, Brian, but it would hurt a lot more than it 
does now.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Did you see anyone watching you?”

“You know how that café is. It’s a jungle of plants. You can see the fronds in the photo. It hides 
people. The only ones I noticed noticing us were the vampires, which is the only reason I kissed 
him.”

“I don’t think this came from them.”

“No, me either. Than whom?”

Boyd shrugged and snuggled back in Brian’s arms. “Let’s skip going out tonight. Let’s have 
food delivered and just kick back.”

Brian agreed, the pleasure of going out dimmed by the discomfort of being observed by a curious 
stranger.
Current Mood: aggravated
 
05:49 am - BURN, Chapter 77
Hi, Burniacs, he stayed up llllllaaaate finishing this for Lois, and I'm going to be late so I could 
finish editing it. Safe trip, Lois. Enjoy it, all. Ran


****



Pearl patiently waited for Bellamy to explain his purpose for the dinner invitation, but he offered 
no such explanation during the meal or over coffee. The conversation between them was polite 
but formal. He walked her back to the hotel. She poured him a brandy as they sat alone in the 
courtyard. Bellamy watched the cat leap up on her lap and then said, 

“I want you to read me.”

“Read to you?” She had a flash back to when he was a small child and they would share a quiet 
snuggle while she read Dr. Seuss as a pre-bedtime treat. This was long before the struggles 
between them that led him to his father’s home. It was one of her favorite memories from his 
youth. 

“Read my tarot, Pearl. Read the chicken bones. Read the bumps in my scalp, I don’t care. But 
read me.”

“You know how it is, Bell. Reading for blood is very uncertain. Why do you ask this of me 
now?”

“I feel that I’m at a crossroads and I don’t want to take the wrong step. My own powers have 
become unclear to me. I have a failure of focus.”

She wanted to smile but suspected that was the wrong reaction. “Let’s go upstairs. We need 
privacy for this.”

In her suite, lit only by candles, they sat at the small table that was decorated with a crystal vase 
holding a dozen fresh red roses. She moved the flowers to the bedside table and then brought out 
a small wooden box that resembled an index file. Inside was a crimson silk scarf wrapped around 
an ancient deck of tarot cards. This was the traditional way to store such cards, wrapped in silk 
and kept in a wooden box. She shuffled and then let him cut the deck after first choosing his 
significator, the card that represented him. She dealt out the pattern and then slowly, together, 
they interpreted and debated what the cards revealed. When the session ended, Bellamy leaned 
back and lit a cigar.

“So what did we learn here tonight?” he said with a ghost of a smile. “I think we’ll agree that my 
life is going into a very fucked up phase.”

His mother laughed. “I wouldn’t put it that way, Bellamy. I would say you’re in a transition 
period, which is neither good nor bad. It’s just about change, and everything changes. What you 
do in this transition period is the important focus.”

“And the damn cards gave me no clue on that, did they?”

“Did you think they would? You’re a seven man, Bellamy. Cards have nothing to tell you that 
you don’t already know. Would you like to share your concerns without the ruse of the tarot 
cards between us?”

“Boyd Coulter wants to change the face of sugar in Louisiana and he wants me to be the power 
behind that change.”

“That sounds intriguing.”

He leaned back in his chair, prepared to fill in the blanks. 

It was just after midnight when Bellamy left the hotel. He was carrying a single long stem red 
rose his mother handed him as left. The fragrance of the flower carried into the night. Before he 
got a half block from the hotel, he saw the shadow of two men lingering in the darkness, pressed 
close to the brick wall of a building. He tensed. The Vieux Carre wasn’t the safest place in 
America after dark, especially not for a man alone, who happened to be wearing an expensive 
watch and carrying cash. He had his ways of protecting himself, but he wasn’t in the mood to test 
them. As he came closer, he realized they weren’t waiting for a victim, they were engaged in a 
hot embrace. Hands groping, lips locked, this too was fairly common for the Quarter.

He shifted his gaze away from them, but then, “You looking for action, sailor?”

He turned and smiled at Brian’s taunt. “You know, you have a room waiting a few steps 
forward.”

“We were taking a break. It’s a long walk when you’re horny. You don’t even speak?”

“I didn’t know it was you guys. You aren’t the only faggots in the Quarter,” Bellamy said with a 
laugh.

“Yeah, we just spent the evening with a few of your local denizens of the dick.”

Boyd laughed at Brian’s slightly tweaked demeanor. “How was your dinner with Pearl?” he 
asked.

“Fine. She tells you guys everything, does she?”

“Doubtful. We’d invite you up for a drink, but…” Brian stood behind Boyd, his hands moving 
slowly down his lover’s torso as Bellamy nodded.

“Yeah, I get it and it’s late. Boyd, call me tomorrow some time.”

“I will.”

They went in two directions, and Bellamy laughed to himself over the unexpected encounter. 
Fate was at work once again. His house was lit, suggesting Charles had returned from his 
mysterious engagement. Bellamy had mixed emotions about finding him awake. He wanted to 
talk, but then again, he wanted to brood, alone. 

When he went in, the music of Dave Brubeck greeted him from the sound system; a different 
kind of jazz for this part of the world. There was Charles’s voice and a feminine giggle that 
belonged to a genetic female. Bellamy followed the sound to the drawing room, where the lights 
were low, the champagne was open, and his “mother” was curled up on couch next to Daphne, 
who sat with one leg tucked under her as she balanced a fine crystal stem of Tattinger’s. 

“Hi, darling,” Charles greeted him warmly. “Pour yourself a glass and join us.”

He filled a flute and sat down in a chair, facing them, his eyes scanning Daphne’s attractive 
candy pink dress before he settled on Charles. “What’s going on?”

“I’m putting the moves on her, but so far, no luck,” Charles quipped as Daphne giggled.

“I find you irresistible, Charles. You know that.”

“What’s really going on?” Bellamy persisted.

“We had a lovely dinner at that new place on the river that everyone is writing about, and now 
we’re here, having a lovely conversation,” Charles responded to his question.

“Your ‘date’ was with Mom?” Bellamy directed this one at Daphne, who grinned.

“Yes. He called me and I was thrilled to go.”

There was a mixture of relief and annoyance rolling through Bellamy’s system. “What are you 
up to, Mom? You know how I feel about people interfering in my personal life. Even you.”

“This had nothing to do with you, Mr. Center-of-the-Universe. This has to do with the lovely 
Daphne and myself. I am utterly charmed by her. I might just marry her and move her to 
Savannah.”

She giggled as Bellamy rolled his eyes. “It’s every girl’s dream to marry a man old enough to be 
her grandfather who also just happens to be gay.”

“It’s not all about sex, Bellamy,” Charles chided him. “We’d have a lovely time together, 
traveling the world, so much I could show this girl, and so much fun we would have talking 
about everyone in the room.”

“You’ve got way too much energy for me, Charles,” Daphne gushed at him. “I couldn’t keep 
up.”

“We’d sleep until noon every day, darling. We’d lead a civilized life, none of this work a day 
stuff for us.”

“Where were you?” Daphne tried to make it sound casual, but Bellamy caught the sharpness in 
her inquiry and he appreciated that she, too, was a little jealous.

“I had dinner with Pearl.”

“And how is the dear lady?” Charles inquired.

“Same as always. Sends her love.”

“Good for you, Bell, good for you! So glad you did that. Well, children, now that Bellamy is 
here to ensure you get home safely, Daphne, I shall bid you good night. My old bones are 
screaming for the mattress. I had the most lovely time, and we must do it again.” He kissed her 
on the forehead, then did the same to Bellamy, leaning close to whisper, “She’s a dream,” before 
he went upstairs. 

A brief silence, and then Bellamy said, “You could have told me you were dining with my 
mom.”

“I could have, yes.”

He moved over to claim Charles’s abandoned spot on the sofa beside her. “Why didn’t you?”

“Why should I?”

“Games.”

“You’re the gamesman, Bellamy, not I.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know what it means.”

He knew she couldn’t know about Luann Coulter. They hadn’t been seen together. They met and 
parted at the hotel. He took it as a general remark. “The fact is, you wanted me to think you had a 
real date.”

“I did have a real date.”

“With an elderly queen.”

“So? He took me to dinner and paid the tab. That’s a date.”

Bellamy shook his head, and she reached over to rest her hand on his. “What’s troubling you, 
player?”

“Quit calling me that.”

“Quit acting like one.”

“I fucked Boyd Coulter’s sister today,” he blurted the truth in a move that surprised even him. 
Her eyes grew wide.

“Lisette?”

“No, the other one. The one who isn’t gay.”

“I don’t know her,” Daphne’s shock was apparent and he sighed as he felt that guilty sensation 
return.

“You aren’t missing much.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you fuck her?”

He shrugged. “She called me. She made it clear she wanted to fuck me, arranged to meet me at a 
local hotel. She’s beautiful. Why not?”

“Is she blonde, like Lisette and Boyd?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what you want? A blonde trophy? Black man, blonde trophy?”

He shook his head. “I’ve had plenty of blonde trophies, Daphne. What’s one more? I’m not 
drawn to white stuff any more than I’m drawn to women of color. I’m attracted to women, 
period. Race is inconsequential.”

“As is good taste or propriety or anything else,” her anger was rising. “Why are you telling me 
this? Is this your idea of payback? I go to dinner with Charles so you have to slam me with some 
nasty little nooner you had today? With some rich white lady? Well, congratulations, Bellamy. 
You’re the man. You’re bangin’, you really are,” she stood up, slipping her feet into her sandals. 
He grabbed her wrist, but she pulled free. He grabbed it again and this time she couldn’t twist out 
of his grip. “Let go of me,” she growled as he shook his head.

“Sit down.”

“No.”

“Sit down, Daphne.”

She yanked out of his grip and sat down with a glare, her arms folded across her chest as she 
refused to look at him. He said, “You’re right. I’m a dawg, I told you that up front. But funny 
thing happened at the hotel today.”

“Like I give a shit.”

“I felt guilty.”

“No doubt she’s married.”

“No, that’s not it, and she’s not. Some of it was her feeling of entitlement to be serviced by the 
Mandingo from the field.”

Daphne cut him a glare. “You wish. I hate to break it to you, Bellamy, but you’re no African 
warrior. You’re hardly even black.”

“In color?”

“In any way.”

“We could debate that, but why bother? That was only part of my discomfort. I really didn’t 
enjoy it, Daphne. She was fine on the technicalities but something was missing.”

“Why do I have to hear this?”

“You were missing.”

“Yeah. And if you think you’re going to get me in some three way with Boyd Coulter’s straight 
sister or anyone else, think again.”

“I don’t want you in a three way. Well, let me restate that. The idea of you in a three way is 
indeed hot, but that’s not what I meant. I felt like I was being unfair to you and I missed you.”

She exhaled slowly and then pulled her hair up, fastening it in a loose, curly top knot with a 
rubber band she took from her wrist. “Let me get this straight. You were in the middle of ivory 
poontang when you decided you missed me. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“You are beyond fucked up, Bellamy.”

“I know.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Don’t say anything.”

“I won’t, because it’s so fucked up anything I say is just superfluous.”

He nodded, reaching over to stroke the back of her neck. She tensed, but her eyes closed. “It 
won’t happen again, I can tell you that.”

“With her, you mean.”

“Right.”

“That really narrows the field of eligibles, doesn’t it?”

He smiled. “Slightly. Come on, Daphne. Work with me. I’m telling you shit I’ve never said to 
any woman.”

“Lucky me.”

“Daphne…”

She stood up. “Will you call a cab for me? I don’t want to walk home at this hour.”

He sighed and stood with her. “I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. We could both use the air.”

On the street, they walked in silence. The clubs were still overflowing, there was music and 
laughter all around them. People were hooking up or trying to, others were hooked and making 
out on corners. A few had zeroed out and were drunk and stumbling home. The usual shell-
shocked tourists holding outsized Hurricane glasses wandered among the locals. She paused at a 
dark storefront and said, “This is Boyd’s gallery. Or it’s going to be. I wonder if he’ll ever get to 
work on it. It’s almost like a dream, because he’s now so involved in his family’s business.”

“Very involved.”

“I feel sorry for him. This is what he wants to do.”

“He’s pretty good at the other.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

“But…”

“I know because he’s approached me about running for national office on a reform ticket.”

“Reforming what?” Daphne was shocked by the breadth of Boyd’s reach. He seemed so quiet, so 
nice and polite, so supportive of Brian, but not pushy. She always suspected there was a lot more 
going on beneath his handsome surface. 

“Sugar.”

“How do you reform sugar and why?”

“It’s too late at night to get into that twisted history.”

“Was his sister part of the plot to convince you?” Her disappointment meter regarding Boyd was 
going up, if so. He laughed.

“Not hardly. I get the distinct feeling they despise each other and are on different sides of that 
issue. I suspect she saw me at dinner with Boyd and Brian, and decided to use her charms to 
wheedle information out of me.”

“Was she successful?”

“Not even close.”

Daphne was pleased to hear that. “So what did you tell Boyd about his offer?”

“Nothing. I’m thinking about it.”

“He wants you to run for the House?”

“Skip that. Senate.”

“Aren’t you a little young?”

“You only have to be thirty and I passed that landmark awhile ago.”

“Well, you’re black, sort of, raised in a non-traditional family, a reputed voodoo king, or 
whatever that is, and a social liberal. Can you spell losing in a landslide?”

He took both of her arms in his as he said, “Know this about me, Daphne. I never lose.”

She started to respond, but then he kissed her and suddenly verbal response was unnecessary.
Current Mood: pensive
 
05:42 am - BURN, Chapter 78
Here it is, Burniacs, freshly edited. ENJOY! Ran

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



Brian was so lost in thought that he didn’t even hear Boyd approach. Seated beside the pool, he 
watched the water turn an impossible azure color under the embedded pool lights. A skim of 
stars floated on the surface, reflecting the sky. He jumped when Boyd pressed a cold beer in his 
hand and insinuated himself onto the chaise with him. 

“You disappeared,” Boyd said, an observation, not an accusation. 

Brian took a long draw from the bottle and then replied, “You had it under control. Are they 
asleep?”

“Either that or on their way.”

“Should we leave them alone in the house?” Brian looked up the path to the guesthouse. Boyd 
smiled.

“They can see us from the window if they get worried and Jane’s upstairs with them.”

“True.”

The big house was dark. The clutter of construction invaded both inside and outside its elegant 
structure. In contrast, the guesthouse was well lit. Security sensors were in place to light the 
perimeter if motion was detected, and glowing lamps illuminated the interior. Boyd combed 
Brian’s hair back with his fingers, a gesture of affection. “What’s wrong?”

“Why is something wrong?”

“I asked you first.”

“I’m fine.”

Boyd leaned back against Brian’s torso, his knees bent as he closed his eyes in contentment. “I 
can always tell when your brain is in overdrive. What’s on your mind?”

“We’ve been through a lot in the last couple days. I’m just tired. Packing the shit up at the B&B, 
moving it here, getting some necessary things out of storage, getting the kids started in school, 
settling in. A lot of changes to absorb.”

“I think it went well. No issue getting the kids in school here, nothing important got lost in the 
move, could be worse. Want to tell me what’s really bugging you?”

“I miss Gus,” Brian admitted. “I feel like we have a missing link in our family.”

Boyd squeezed Brian’s knee gently. “I know. I feel the same way. It was great having him here. 
What do you want to do about it?”

“Can’t I just miss him without having to ‘do something about it’?” Brian snapped, then exhaled 
slowly. “I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. I guess I’m just feeling pretty helpless about 
him now. What can I do, really? I don’t think this is the best time to sue, not with all the shit 
falling down around our heads. And we really don’t have a good place to put him until we get 
into the big house. I just miss him. Let me miss him.”

“Okay if I miss him along with you?”

Brian smiled. “Feel free.”

They were silent for a minute and then Boyd said, “Would it improve your mood if I sucked your 
cock?”

Brian forced a grim expression. “While your kids watch from the window?”

“I was thinking something quasi-outlaw, like against that tree in the dark over there. No one can 
see us there.”

Brian cocked a single eyebrow, which Boyd took as a positive sign. “Are we feeling naughty 
tonight?”

“I’m hungry,” Boyd said with a grin. “Feed me.”

Brian pushed him off of his body and then stood, stretching his limbs before finishing off the 
beer and starting in the direction of the sheltering tree. Boyd followed at a discreet distance. 
Brian stood with one foot flat against the bark, waiting. They played a little game. Boyd walked 
past him and then circled back, being deliberately non-committal. Brian lit a cigarette and 
pretended not to notice. Boyd paused in front of him on the path and said, 

“Take it out.”

“Why should I?’ Brian played hard to get.

“Just do it, faggot.”

“Get on your knees.”

“Let me see it first. Let me decide if it’s worth my time.”

Brian unzipped his fly and reached in, withdrawing his cock. It swung slightly to the right, 
already semi-erect but not enough to stand. Boyd eyed it as if for the first time and sank to his 
knees in front of him. Brian threw his head back with a gasp as Boyd spread his hands flat on 
Brian’s hard thighs and sank his cock deep into his throat. Brian’s erection went maximum at 
that gesture, and he thrust forward slightly, stroking himself within his lover’s mouth.

It didn’t take long until he came, and as the orgasm faded, he returned the release for Boyd. They 
walked back to the house, hand in hand, relaxation softening their tension. “About this plan for 
running the business…” Brian picked up a thread they had never resolved. Boyd smiled.

“There’s a certain advantage to the modern age. It’s called computers and phones and video hook 
up. I don’t need to be physically in that plant to get the work done. I’m not working on the floor, 
after all. And so much of what needs to be done now is political and forward looking, not the day 
to day. Next weekend when we go to Atlanta for the installation of Jared’s exhibit, I’ve set up a 
couple meetings with some power brokers. Depending on which way Bellamy decides to swing, 
I may take him with us.”

“Are you using Bellamy or what?”

“We’ll use each other, the way politics and business have always worked in this country.”

“How viable is he? A black man in Louisiana? Raised by queers and a voodoo queen? Seems 
dicey.”

“Bellamy has three things that will get him where he wants to go. One, he’s smart. Two, he has 
flesh impact. Three, he’s a seven man. He has powers that he hasn’t even begun to use.”

Brian laughed as he fell back on the bed in their new bedroom. It still smelled vaguely of paint, 
but otherwise it was home, now. “I agree that Washington could use a little voodoo but we live 
in a Christian theocracy right now. I view voodoo as another strike against him.”

“He can’t come out with it, Brian,” Boyd began to undress. “Like so many others, he’ll have to 
keep it closeted. But overall, I think it’s a positive because I’ve seen the power that can be 
invoked. I know you think it’s silly, but you didn’t grow up here. You just don’t get it.”

“That’s mostly true. But I’m beginning to wonder.”

Boyd climbed into bed with him, naked. “You sleeping in your clothes?”

“I want you to take them off me.”

“You lazy cow.”

“I know.”

Boyd smiled and began the task of peeling Brian down to his skin.

*****
Three hours later, Boyd reached across a deeply sleeping Brian to quiet the ringing phone with a 
sleepy, “Yeah?” How could Brian sleep through that jangle, he wondered as a soft voice asked,

“Brian?”

“He’s asleep.” Boyd squinted at the LCD of the clock. It was after two. “Who is this?”

“Boyd, it’s Moody. I’m in trouble.”

Boyd sat up, suddenly awake. “What kind of trouble?”

“I think I’m really sick.”

“Call the ER, Moody.”

“I can’t. I…Boyd, I may be dying.”

Boyd sighed. Dramatics. “Are you high?”

“No, I…”

“What the fuck?” Brian awoke, grumpy, and squinted at Boyd’s form in the bed. “Who is it?”

“Moody. He says he’s sick. Says he’s dying.”

Brian wrenched the phone from him. “What the fuck, Moody?”

“Brian, will you help me?”

“Where are you?”
“Jackson Square.”

“Did you take something?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“The vampires. They bled me out.”

Boyd idled the Rover on a side street while Brian walked into the dark and slightly eerie square. 
Homeless people wandered there or slept in the shrubbery at night, knowing the benches meant 
they would be ousted by periodic police patrols. They were like grey ghosts in the darkness, but 
Brian had no fear of them. He went straight over to the slim form stretched out on a bench and 
pushed his shoulder slightly. “Moody?”

He stirred, but didn’t respond. Brian shook him harder. “Moody, sit up!”

“He done overdosed. He dying,” a homeless prophet suggested and Brian thought he was 
showing way too much interest in Moody’s Nikes. He shooed him off and forcefully hauled 
Moody up to a sitting position, supporting him by holding his shoulders. 

“Moody, it’s Brian. Get up.”

His eyes fluttered open. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Come on,” Brian noticed Moody’s cell phone had been under him on the bench 
and he picked it up and tucked it in a pocket of Moody’s jeans. He helped him stand, surprised 
by how wobbly he was. He had to all but carry him out of the square and then shoved him into 
the back of the car. Moody groaned. Boyd looked horrified. The interior light of the Rover 
showed how ghostly pale the boy was. 

“Let’s go,” Brian insisted. “He’s slipping.”

Moody had to be transported from the Rover to the hospital ER on a gurney because he was 
unable to be aroused by the time they arrived. Brian and Boyd did what they could to assist in the 
paper work, but they didn’t know all that much about the boy. When a doctor emerged from a 
cubicle, he looked suspiciously at the two men. 

“You want to tell me what happened to him?”

“Is he okay?” Brian asked.

“What happened?” The doctor wouldn’t yield. “What are those marks all over his body?”

Boyd stepped in. “Vampire bites, doctor.”

“You think this is funny? That kid is close to death.”

Brian tensed. “No, we don’t think it’s funny. We think it’s sick. He called us for help. We didn’t 
do this to him. But we know who did. There’s a club where these freaks pretend to be vampires 
and drink each other’s blood. Moody hung out there. Is he going to die?”

“We’re giving him blood. I think he may have made it here just in time. You’re telling me this 
was some kind of sick ritual?”

“We don’t know that much about it,” Boyd said. 

“Where are these people?”

“Daphne may know,” Brian offered. “I think Moody took her there once.”

“They seem to have injected some kind of anti-coagulant to keep his blood flowing and that 
concerns me,” the doctor said. “And this wasn’t done by a bunch of bites and sips. Someone 
shoved a shunt into a vein and drained him. This is a police matter.”

“Agreed,” Boyd said while Brian raised Daphne on his mobile. 

Within a half hour, both Daphne and Bellamy showed up, obviously together when Brian called. 
They were slightly disheveled, as were Boyd and Brian, and Daphne grabbed Brian’s arm. “Is he 
okay?”

Brian shrugged. “We don’t know. The doctor should be out soon. He’s in there with him now. 
We haven’t been able to see him. They tried to kill him, Daph. This has ceased to be fun and 
games. The police are being called. You need to tell them where that club is.”

“I will. I knew that place was bad news.”

When the police arrived, they spoke to each of them and the doctor, and then left with the 
information. The four friends waited for word from the doctor. Boyd napped with his head on 
Brian’s shoulder while Brian stared straight ahead, wondering how much of this was his fault for 
that stupid kiss. Happy fucking birthday, Moody. Bellamy reached across Daphne to tap Brian’s 
arm.

“Not your fault, man.”

“What?”

“I hear ya, but it’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to say it. I heard it. This kind of evil goes beyond a kiss.”

“How do you do that?”

Bellamy shrugged. “If only I knew.”

The doctor interrupted them. “He seems stable, but we’re going to keep him overnight for 
observation. He was quite nauseated from the transfusion, which is common, and the medication 
we gave him made him very drowsy. Once he’s in a room, you can see him, but he won’t hear 
much, won’t remember it. I suggest you all go home and come back tomorrow. He just needs to 
sleep now. He’s out of danger.”

Daphne began to cry as relief tweaked her emotions and Bellamy gave her a hug. “Come on, girl, 
let’s go home. You can come back in the morning.”

She nodded and Boyd stood too, but Brian remained seated. “You go ahead. I’ll just hang 
around.”

“Brian, you heard what he said…” Boyd tried.

“I’m staying.” Brian’s pronouncement was final. 

Boyd leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Call me later. I’ll come get you.”

“I will.”

He watched them leave, then stretched his long legs out in front of him and closed his eyes, 
waiting. 

****

Moody felt like he’d been hit by a tractor-trailer when he awoke the next day. Every bone, every 
muscle screamed with pain, and his stomach was on a roller-coaster. It was the worst hangover 
and flu combined. Even his head throbbed and he was so weak, he could barely lift his hand. 
Disoriented, he glanced around the small, antiseptic room and relaxed only when he saw Brian 
uncomfortably asleep in a chair in the corner. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice parched and dry. “Brian.”

Brian opened his eyes and focused a bleary gaze on the boy. “Back to the living?” He stretched 
with a groan, and rubbed his fingertips over a stubble of beard. 

Moody looked at the IV bags being dripped into his arm and saw the series of bruises networking 
his pale skin. “What happened?”

“Vampires.”

“I remember that, but how did I get here?”

“You called us.”

“Oh.”

“Lucky you did. Do you know how close you were to dying?”

“No.”

“Very.”

“What did they do to me? The doctors?”

“Pumped a few gallons of blood and fluid into you.”

“I’m thirsty.”

Brian got up and walked over to the bed. He filled a cup at the sink and hoisted the straw to 
Moody’s dry lips. “Drink it down.”

Moody took one sip, felt it roll around in his stomach, and then turned away from it. “It’s making 
me sick.”

Brian put the cup on the table and sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re an idiot.”

“I didn’t plan it. It began the way it usually does, with Noel, and then they all just came out of 
nowhere and jumped on me, biting me and pinning me down. It was like being attached by a 
pack of wild dogs. Someone shoved a needle in my arm. Next thing I know, I woke up in the 
Square.”

“The police are in it.”

“No!” Moody’s eyes grew wide, his pallor suddenly flushing with heat.

Brian pushed him back against the pillow. “Shut up, what did you think? They can just murder 
you and no one will investigate?”

A different doctor came in with a nurse. Brian stepped aside while they checked him out, but he 
got a glimpse of the network of bruised punctures on his torso, thigh, neck, everywhere, and it 
made him mad as well as disgusted. He gazed out the window at an overcast day as they 
removed the catheter, telling Moody his kidneys were functioning normally. The doctor then 
said, “I think we can release you today. We’ll give you some antibiotics and some anti-nausea 
medication. You need to stay in bed as much as possible for forty-eight hours and then come 
back in for some tests and a check up. You understand? No alcohol, drugs, herbal remedies, pain 
killers, Advil, aspirin. Bland diet, drink lots of fluids. Are you going to take him home?” He 
looked at Brian who nodded. 
“Take his temperature every four hours, if he spikes a fever, call. If he becomes difficult to 
rouse, call. If he vomits blood or there’s blood in his urine or stools, call.”

“I’ll be fine,” Moody said, embarrassed by the trouble he was causing. “I can walk home.”

“Shut up,” Brian said with a roll of his eyes. “When can he leave?”

“I’ll process the papers. Within the hour.”

The IV’s were removed and Moody watched Brian call Boyd and then said, “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever, Moody. We’ll talk about that later.”

“You can just drop me off at the hotel-apartment where I live.”

“You’re staying with us until your forty-eight hours is up. You can have the couch.”

“But…”

Brian held up a hand to stop him. “It’s decided.” He opened the closet and removed Moody’s 
clothes, noticing for the first time, the shirt and jeans were bloodstained. He was helping him 
dress when the door opened and two policemen entered and showed identification. 

“Who are you?” They asked Brian, who noticed their contempt.

“A friend. Do you want me to leave, Moody?”

“No,” Moody buttoned his fly and said to the cops, “I have no complaint against those people. It 
was voluntary. It just got out of hand. No one meant for it to happen.”

“Jesus, Moody, are you crazy?” Brian said, but Moody glared back.

“It’s true, Brian. I’m not pressing any charges.”

“You were almost killed, kid,” one of the cops reminded him. Moody shrugged.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

“They didn’t even bring you in for help.”

“They didn’t know how bad it was.”

Brian was biting his tongue, letting Moody control it while he fumed. The cops asked a few more 
questions, and then left. Brian could tell by their demeanor that they wrote it off to some 
perverse faggot thing and had no intention of following up. He spun at Moody. “You cannot let 
them get away with this!”

“Please, Brian, let it go. You don’t get it. You don’t know them. Let me handle it.”

“I feel responsible. That kiss…”

“No, it’s more than that. Look, I just want to get out of here. Please?” His blue eyes were 
rimmed with tears and Brian sighed and relented to his emotion. There was always later. There 
were other ways of dealing with this, outside the police. Moody may want to let it go, but not 
Brian. He helped him into a wheelchair and they took an elevator downstairs to meet Boyd in the 
porte-cochere. Moody walked to the car, a little shaky but on his own. Boyd looked from 
Moody’s pale demeanor to Brian’s lockjaw glare and knew better than to ask. 

“Let’s go home,” Brian said. Boyd nodded, and began to drive.
Current Mood: worried
 
05:15 am - BURN, Chapter 79
Burniacs, posting for Big B. We're both leaving town on bidness today, two different directions. 
We'll both be checking in, I suppose. Enjoy! I did. Ran

******


Noel left his house one block over from the private club on Magazine Street. It was just after 
four in the afternoon. He flared his nostrils at the scent of paint still fresh on the exterior of his 
Creole cottage. In the process of being painted pale lavender by a crew who seemed more 
interested in smoking dope and taking breaks than in their work, he was impatient for it to be 
finished. This hodge podge blend of peeling white undercoat and fresh saddened lavender was a 
bore.

Dressed in his usual black, dark glasses, hair perfected, kabuki white makeup in place, he walked 
towards the corner where he would catch his usual streetcar to the Quarter, but he never made it 
that far. A black limo with heavily tinted glass pulled up to the curb. The driver was a tall man in 
full livery, who got out and said, “Please get in.”

His accent bore a trace of the islands. 

Noel was confused. He watched the man open the back door for him as he asked, “Who are you? 
What do you want?”

From within came the faint scent of a Cuban cigar. “Get in, Noel,” a male voice beckoned. 
Intrigued, Noel forgot all the lessons of his youth about strangers offering rides as he slid into the 
air-conditioned comfort of the Lincoln. The interior was so dark he had to let his eyes adjust as 
the driver took off with increasing speed. “Who are you?” he addressed his fellow passenger, 
whom he identified as a strongly built African American man dressed in an Italian suit, 
sunglasses, a fedora, with a fragrant white gardenia pinned to his lapel. 

“I’m your worst nightmare, Vampira,” Bellamy responded. “I’m the real deal.”

“The real what?” Noel was still more curious than afraid, although a hint of fear had entered his 
pheromones and Bellamy picked up on it immediately. He smiled at the first appearance of 
dread.

“In this world, there are things that you see and things that you don’t see, but you know they 
exist. And then there are things that exist that you know nothing about. The things that exist that 
you know nothing about are quite tolerant. We find it amusing when you try to emulate us, even 
play with our rituals and try so hard to belong. To be one of us. But you never will be, never can 
be, and when you cross over and start pretending you are and thus make a mockery of us, we get 
testy. You’ve now crossed that dividing line between make believe and mockery, Noel.”

“What are you saying?” Noel thought this man looked familiar but he wasn’t sure why. “Am I 
supposed to believe you’re a vampire?”

Bellamy laughed. “A vampire? Me? Lord, no. I’m not a vampire. I’m the seven man.”

“The…what?” Noel had a vague recollection from his vast library on the occult about the 
significance of the number seven in the world of voudon. 

“Seventh generation of witchdoctor, my pale friend. Voodoo king. And city councilman in my 
spare time,” Bellamy grinned at him. “Bellamy Beaufort,” he extended his hand and Noel 
relaxed as he shook it. Of course. Beaufort. He had seen him on television and around the city. 
He was supposedly destined for big things, the son of the Voodoo Queen, Lady Pearl, and some 
rich, dead queer. He wasn’t sure what this was all about, but he felt certain he had nothing to fear 
from some politician.

Bellamy tucked his glasses into a pocket and Noel saw that they were leaving the city to cross 
the long bridge across the river. “Where are we going?”

“Algiers, the long way.”

Noel tensed again. Algiers? Pretty much a no man’s land for white people. Also for people with 
money. Why the hell was he taking him to Algiers? “What do you want from me?”

“I want to share my wisdom with you, Noel. I want you to understand that what you take as a 
game, as something that gives your pathetic little life meaning and that serves as a power base 
for you is, shall we say, insulting to others. Those of us who live beyond the veil that you will 
never pierce.”

“I don’t believe in voodoo. Like religion, it’s nothing but opium for the masses. Something the 
little, powerless people cling to in order to provide them with a taste of control.”

“Didn’t Karl Marx first use that religion line? Always attribute. It doesn’t matter if you believe 
in voodoo, Noel, because voodoo believes in you. That pap that says you have to believe in the 
art for it to effect you is pure Hollywood. All you have to do is cross a true practitioner, and what 
you believe becomes irrelevant.”

“I’ve never crossed you, luckily,” Noel said with a nervous laugh. Bellamy shrugged. 

“See, that’s the problem. You never know. You think you’re taking advantage of a powerless, 
disconnected soul who has no one watching his back. And then suddenly you discover, usually 
too late, that he has some very powerful friends and those friends are sick of your shenanigans. 
You almost killed Moody with your little game of leeches. Moody is a friend of a friend. Which 
makes him my friend. Which makes you up shit creek without the proverbial paddle.”

“I…I have no idea who you mean.”

“Really? Well, this will be so unfair, then. Because you’re about to become the innocent victim.”

“What are you talking about? Please pull over now and let me out of the car!”

Bellamy placed a hand on Noel’s arm and Noel instantly felt his ability to move vanish. It was as 
if he were frozen in paralysis, only his vital functions continuing to operate normally. Bellamy 
said, “If I wanted to, I could stop your heart from beating. I could take the breath from your 
lungs and watch you choke on your own tongue. If I wanted to, I could blind you for life or take 
away your ability to speak. Freeze your vocal chords forever. Now you don’t want that, do you?”

Noel shook his head, afraid to test his voice. Bellamy nodded.

“Good plan. Don’t lie to me. Don’t fuck with me. Don’t try anything stupid or this is going to go 
a lot worse than my original plan. Do you believe in me now?”

Noel nodded, and Bellamy withdrew his hand, taking with it the paralysis. Noel felt his body 
relax with a shot of warmth, and he cowered closer to the door, staring at the handsome man’s 
profile. “What are you doing with me?”

“I’m making your dreams come true, Noel.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m taking you to meet your hero.”

“I have no heroes.”

“Nonsense. You fancy yourself a vampire, don’t you?”

“So?”

“Well you’re about to meet the real thing,” Bellamy said with a smile that chilled Noel to the 
bone. 

****

Moody awoke in early evening, hearing the distant sound of children playing outside, the scent 
of food cooking in the kitchen, the murmur of adult conversation, deliberately muted. He sat up, 
surprised by how weak he was. It was like the worst case of flu ever, and when he tried to stand, 
he couldn’t.

“It’s alive,” Brian said with a smirk, walking in from the kitchen. Daphne followed close behind, 
her expression worried. 

“I need to pee and I can’t seem to get up,” Moody said. Brian helped him, keeping an arm around 
him as he walked him to the bathroom and left him there. When he came out, Brian walked him 
back to the sofa. He had never seen anyone so pale. 

“Can I have some water?”

“Here,” Boyd came from the kitchen with a tall container with a straw in it. “This is some super 
Gatorade or something the docs want you to drink. It has stuff in it to help you get your strength 
back. It smells like lemonade, so it can’t be all bad.”

Moody took a sip and winced. It was cold and wet, but too sweet. He tried to hand it back, but 
Boyd shook his head.

“Drink it all, a little at a time.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“A long time.”

Daphne sat beside him, reaching over to plump his flattened curls. “Are you feeling any better at 
all?”

“Than death? Yeah. Listen, thank all you guys for…”

“Shut up,” Brian interrupted. “Just shut up. You brought this on yourself. And then you 
chickened out on holding them responsible. If you weren’t so pathetic, I’d kick your ass myself.”

Moody sighed. “I’d go home, but…”

“Can the martyr routine. We’re feeding the kids. Drink your drink. Watch some tube, sleep. 
We’ll take this up when you’re back on your feet.”

“Brian, don’t do anything stupid with Noel. I know how you are. But you don’t know how he is. 
He’s not…normal. He’s dangerous. Please don’t make any more enemies than you already have 
because of me.”

“You think I’m afraid of that freak?” Brian laughed. “I shit bigger problems than him. Anyway, 
it’s been handled.”

Moody looked terrified. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just that,” Boyd responded. “Handled. Done. Fixed.” He was scooping jambalaya over rice as 
he said so, filling bowls with the fragrant brew. 

“How?” Moody demanded.

“In a way he’ll understand.”

Moody looked to Daphne for normalcy, but she just smiled and said, “I’ll go get the kids and 
Jane.”

“We’d offer you some jambalaya, but you’d just hurl it up on the table and that’s so 
unappetizing,” Brian teased. 

Moody felt deep fear over their believing they could handle a man like Noel, someone so far 
outside their range of experience. He feared less for himself than he did for bringing unneeded 
trouble into this house. This family. “Whatever you’re doing, make it stop, Brian. Please. He’ll 
hurt you.”

“There is no going back, Moody. The plan is in action and I’m not really worried about it. Some 
things are beyond our ability to mend. Sometimes you have to call in the expert.”

The kids ran in, wet from the pool, and chased each other upstairs to change into dry clothes. The 
quiet order of the empty, perfect house was no more. A family had moved in. “There is no expert 
to handle someone like Noel,” Moody complained, frustrated by his inability to get through to 
them. “Who did you call? A vampire hunter?”

“Better,” Brian said with a shrug as Jane and Daphne began placing the bowls of food on the 
table and Boyd took the salad from the refrigerator. 

“Who?” Moody insisted.

“Bellamy,” Daphne said with a bright little smile of pride. Moody looked from her to Brian and 
Boyd and then fell back on the cushions with a groan, convincing himself he was still in the 
nightmare.
Current Mood: confused
 
06:45 pm - BURN, Chapter 80


The house was set back from the paved streets. It was isolated, overlooking the water, with no 
close neighbors. None of the locals would ever go near there, they knew enough to stay away. A 
dirt road, rutted by ancient wagon wheels and deepened by less ancient tires, led from the iron 
gates, that always stood open, to the old, decrepit mansion. Tall elms bent over that road to 
shelter the approaching visitor, whispering warnings with their leaves. “Turn back, turn back.” 
No one seemed to hear.

There was no electricity in the house, only gaslights, and candles. No air conditioning was 
present to combat the heat, only a conventional “dog run” architecture to ventilate the center of 
it, along with windows that reached to the floor and opened out like doors. Every room had these 
windows, and when all were open, the outside air blew through as if generated artificially. Doric 
columns surrounded the structure on all four sides. The sensation of neglect was an illusion. The 
house was structurally sound and maintained where it mattered most, but the little things, like 
fresh paint, or modern conveniences, held no meaning for its owner.

A tall, island man dressed in perfect livery greeted them at the front door, smiling at Bellamy as 
he spoke to him in French. Bellamy responded in kind. They were admitted into a wide central 
hall with polished cypress floors that gleamed beneath the brilliance of a crystal chandelier 
shaped like an inverted wedding cake and lit with hundreds of white candles. The heat was 
stifling. It trapped the sweet, intense aroma of incense. The smell reminded Noel of the more 
advanced stages of decomposition, once the meat was gone and only a faint reminder of life 
remained in the bone. 

There was no dust, not a cobweb in sight. The interior wall coverings were faded but lush 
remnants of former splendors. Silver, gold and crystal knickknacks threw spears of light at them, 
and oil paintings of former residents hung from taffeta ropes. 

Noel sensed something dreadful resided in this time-elapsed mansion, something to be feared. 
Yet he could draw no comfort from Bellamy. Bellamy, too, was a man of terror. He felt 
disoriented, drugged, although he had taken nothing. His sense of reality had slipped. The heat 
that didn’t seem to have much effect on Bellamy left Noel haggard and weak.

The island man led them through a formal drawing room to a conservatory. All of the glass walls 
were tinted in dark colors, throwing the room into a purple, navy, moss green, and dark amber 
gloom. Overhead, a soaring glass ceiling had been replaced with matching panels of dark glass. 
What was once a sunroom full of plants, was now a room of shadows, full of night bloomers, and 
thick with humidity that slimed the glass in a damp film. 

Noel’s makeup became streaked with sweat; his breathing was labored. What kind of human 
orchid could live in this misery, he wondered? Why is Bellamy so cool and unbothered? They 
were seated in wicker peacock chairs near a running fountain when the island man brought them 
ornate crystal glasses along with a carafe of water chilled by shaved ice and floating slices of 
fresh lemon. Noel watched Bellamy pour some water and drink it before he allowed himself that 
much needed relief. “Where do they get ice without electricity?” he asked and Bellamy smiled. 

“He has it delivered in a block and he stores in the ice house, out back, like they used to do. The 
water is pumped in. By hand.”

“It’s very primitive, isn’t it?” A soft voice, almost a whisper, with a strong French inflection 
mixed into their conversation. “But then, who could be more primitive than am I?” 

Bellamy stood, and Noel followed suit, although he was shaky and unsteady by now. “Thank you 
for receiving us, sir,” Bellamy spoke with grave decorum. At first glance, their host appeared 
normal, if eccentric. Tall and spare, he was a light skinned black man with ebony hair smoothed 
straight back, close to his skull. He wore a trim moustache and his fingers appeared attenuated, 
as if he had an extra knuckle. His nails were as long and strong as seasoned ivory, filed into 
talons. 

When he first looked at them, a trick of the dim light gave his eyes the silver discs of a wolf at 
night, but ultimately they resolved to the color of brandy, more gold than brown. He wore a 
black dressing gown and white silk ascot, appearing almost handsome until he smiled. Noel 
reflexively cringed when he saw that all of the man’s teeth were perfect points, like the mouth of 
a shark. Or a demon. Or a creature that requires tools to rip, but not to chew. 

“I bring you a disciple, Van Noor,” Bellamy said with a smile. “Noel, meet Mr. Van Noor, the 
owner of this house. Our host.” To Noel’s immense relief, Van Noor made no sign of wanting to 
shake his hand or otherwise acknowledge his existence. Instead, he offered that demonic grin to 
Bellamy as he said,


“Only Christ needs disciples.” He waved for them to sit and then stretched out with a languid 
sigh on a nearby chaise. “To me, a purported disciple is merely a rival with a different name. 
Look what his disciples did to Jesus. I’ve never believed in pack mentality.”

“I…I didn’t ask to come here,” Noel wanted to be sure it was known that his presence here 
wasn’t voluntary, and that he wasn’t stalking this freak. “I’m sure I could never find my way 
here again.”

Both Bellamy and Van Noor laughed at that. “You think that changes anything?” Van Noor 
asked. “I know who you are. I’ve watched, listened, waited. You mock things you could never 
begin to understand.”

“No!” Noel was determined to make his feelings about vampires understood. He didn’t know 
what this creature was, but he knew enough to fear him. “We admire vampires, genuinely. We 
emulate them as an homage. We live a vampire life.”

Van Noor raised a brow as he tapped a talon on the arm of his chaise. “A vampire life? What do 
you know of vampire life?”

“I’ve read everything there is to read. I’ve made vampirism my life study.”

“Why? So you can play your little games? Pretend to be something you idealize? Mock the true 
followers with your hideous little rituals?”

“But…”

“Do you believe in vampires, Noel?” Van Noor steepled his bony fingers under his chin, his eyes 
getting that quicksilver look again as he stared at him. “Well, do you?”

“Y-yes.”

“Ever met one?”

“No.”

“Oh, but you have.”

“What do you mean? You?”

“Long before me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We watch, we monitor your little games, to see if you might create undue notice. We consider 
undue notice an unfavorable condition. Just as you can don makeup and pretend to be as we are, 
we can disguise ourselves as you, pretending to be us. It’s all very amusing.”

“You’ve been to my club?”

“Not I. But those I know. When you decide to use your games to confer a death sentence, then 
that unfavorable aspect plays into it, because you don’t choose your victims well. You see Noel, 
there is no vampire life. Vampires are all about death. It’s a culture of death. We roll in death. 
We worship death. We live as walking dead, we kill, we feed, we move on. It’s not a game to us. 
It’s our world.”

“How does one…?”

Van Noor waved the back of his hand at Noel to quiet him. “Nothing like your myths. The third 
bite. The woman who awakes in her coffin. The simple act of one vampire biting a human and 
thus turning him into one of us. If it were so simple, we’d soon run out of your kind. No, it’s not 
easy at all to become as I am, and you’ll never be, because you could never be turned.”

“Why?”

“Because you lack what it takes to survive the change. Don’t despair. Most of you do. Sorry, 
Noel, but to us, you fulfill only one function,” he showed his terrible teeth. “Food.”

Noel stumbled to his feet, but Bellamy laughed and put a hand on his arm. “Sit down. Don’t be 
an ass.”

“Do as the Sept-homme says, boy,” Van Noor insisted. “He’s all that’s keeping you from certain 
death.”

“I-I need to leave. I can’t breathe. It’s too hot in here. I need air.”

“Here, this will cool you off,” Bellamy threw his glass of water in Noel’s face. Shocked out of 
his panic, Noel slumped onto his chair. 

“You see how it is when you let your little games get the better of you?” Van Noor asked. He 
pulled at his thumb and Noel yelped as his top knuckle and nail came off. Underneath was a 
normal sized digit with a normally manicured nail. One by one he peeled off his fingertips as he 
spoke. “There’s always going to be someone who’s better than you are at it. Someone to make a 
fool of you,” he reached up and removed the dental plate of pointed teeth, showing his normal 
teeth beneath it. “Someone who knows how it’s done.” He smiled at Bellamy. “Lesson learned?”

“This was just bullshit?” Noel stood, glaring at one man and then the other. “I knew it! I knew 
you were fake! What a load of crap and a waste of my time. It may well be kidnapping, too! Get 
me the fuck out of here.”

“Do you know what Van Noor means?” the vampire asked as the island man blocked the door 
with his bulk. “It’s a play on the French, vin noir, or black wine. In my society that’s what we 
call the blood.”

Noel threw his arms up in frustration. “What are you talking ab…?”

Before he could finish his sentence, Van Noor moved with inhuman speed and grasped him by 
the throat with one hand, pressing Noel’s back to the wall, his feet dangling above the floor. Van 
Noor’s eyes had that silvered effect, which was real, not the result of a conjurer’s trick. His 
canine teeth appeared suddenly elongated as he hissed, “I never said I wasn’t real, Noel. We live 
among you, move among you, you could never pick us out of a crowd. But we exist. And we 
watch. And we don’t like to be mocked,” his tongue flicked the side of Noel’s neck, burning like 
acid.

“Lesson learned, mon ami,” Bellamy said quietly, and Van Noor lowered Noel to the floor to 
stand in a growing pool of Noel’s own urine. 

“Very well, Sept-homme,” he said, squeezing Bellamy’s shoulder as he walked past. “Excuse me 
for not seeing you to the door. I’m feeling a bit tired,” he stretched out on the chaise and Bellamy 
grabbed Noel’s arm, propelling him past the island man to the front door. 

In the car, Bellamy lit a cigar and said, “You smell of piss. I’m dropping you at the ferry landing. 
I don’t want to share a car with you beyond that. I suppose I needn’t mention that going back to 
Van Noor’s house on your own or with your compadres would be a fatal mistake.”

“I-I’d never go near that place!” Noel whimpered as Bellamy smiled.

“And Moody?”

Noel shook his head. Bellamy gave him a shove towards the door when they reached the landing. 
Noel looked a little rubber-legged as he walked to the loading ferry. Bellamy flipped open his 
cell phone and punched in a number. “Brian, Bell. It’s done. Tell Moody he will have no more 
problems with his vampire friends. And we’ll see you and Boyd at my place for dinner, right? 
Good,” he hung up, and then dialed another number. “Did you invite my other mother over 
tonight?” he asked the one who answered.

“Of course I did and you knew I would,” Charles responded. “Where have you been?”

“Algiers.”

“Visiting Maman?”

“No. Chasing vampires.”

Charles paused. “How many times did your father tell you to stay away from them? They can’t 
be counted on!”

“It’s okay, Mom. It’s done.”

“You’ll never get to the White House if you number vampires among your company.”

“Mom…”

“I know how charming they can be. Andre and I had a very good friend you may remember. He 
was named Constantine. Now Constantine was from the Turkish vampire clan, who…”

“Mom, I’ll see you when I get home, and no vampire talk tonight. Okay?”

“Like I don’t know how to act around normal people,” Charles said with a martyred sigh. “Don’t 
forget to pick up the French bread on your way home. It has to be fresh.”

“I won’t forget, Mom,” Bellamy assured him, hanging up as he wondered once again what it 
must have been like to grow up in a normal family.
Current Mood: confused
 
02:49 pm - BURN, Chapter 81
Posting for big b. Ran

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



Dinner with Bellamy had been more festive than expected. There was no conversation about 
vampires or about what Bellamy had done to ensure Noel was no longer a threat to Moody. 
Moody was the one who remained quiet. He was still weak, tired, emotionally distancing himself 
from the main group. As the others shared kitchen duty after the meal, Charles sat down by the 
young man, relaxing him with a warm smile. 

“We’re having crème brulee for dessert. It’s easy on the tummy. You’ll like it. How are you 
feeling?”

“Just a little tired.” Moody wasn’t quite sure about Charles’s relationship with Bellamy, who 
called him “Mom” even though his real mother was the beautiful and mysterious voodoo queen, 
Pearl. He knew this man lived with Bellamy’s father, as his lover, but beyond that he wasn’t 
sure. 

“We’re a very noisy, draining group. No wonder you’re tired. So what do you plan to do with 
your life, Moody?”

“What do you mean?” He dreaded another “Brian” conversation about whether he had a “plan”. 
His only plan right now was getting well enough to work again. He wondered if his illness meant 
he had lost his tour guide slot? In a way, he didn’t mind. Playing a vampire had no appeal for 
him now. 

“You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you’re ambitious. Potent combination. Are you happy?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Have you ever been to Savannah?”

Moody was confused by the abrupt conversation swing. “No. Why?”

“Well you simply have to come there. You need a change of scenery. I have a beautiful home on 
one of the loveliest squares in town. We haven’t had anything worth whispering about in 
Savannah since that tradesman killed the hustler. I’m not a chicken hawk, darling, so don’t 
despair. But if others want to think you’re more than a decorative houseguest, let them!” He 
chuckled. “I simply adore being gossiped about, don’t you?”

Moody smiled, admittedly charmed by the elfin older man. He didn’t find him the least bit 
attractive, sexually, but he did like his personality and sense of humor. “Why would you want 
me to visit you in Savannah if you don’t want to fuck me?”

Charles placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “At my age, fucking is low on the priority list, 
sadly. It’s such an effort. And if I were looking for a lover, he would be nothing like you. This is 
not an insult. I just need the kind of man who coddles me and makes me feel like a princess. I 
don’t think you’d fit the bill. But I adore young people with fire in their belly. I love being 
around them and listening to them and watching them grow up.”

“Did Bellamy or Brian or someone put you up to this?”

“Bellamy won’t like it a bit. He’ll suddenly decide I’m being a silly old queen with a young 
boyfriend who will take me for all I’m worth. That’s just the way he thinks. Although,” Charles 
gave him a little wink. “He may secretly like getting you far away from the fair Daphne.”

Moody smiled slightly. “I think Bellamy knows he won that one.”

“You’re a hot ticket, sweetie. No man ever feels completely secure.”

“What would I do in Savannah?” Moody followed his train of thought.

“First we’d make sure you were feeling fit. You need a little TLC. When you’re back on your 
feet, I’d like to see you finish high school. I have a very good friend who runs a private academy 
for, shall we say, troubled youths. I think he could design a study program that would result in 
your diploma. You may think it’s nonsense, but it isn’t. If you want to work, I know people who 
could offer you some interesting choices. However, I really would like to take you traveling after 
you get that diploma. I hate to travel alone. Haven’t you ever wanted to see Pompeii or Monte 
Carlo or the lights of Paris?”

Moody laughed. “Let me get this straight. You’d pay for me to travel with you?”

“It’s been done, darling. It’s called a traveling companion. Nothing new there. You provide 
company for a lonely old queen, and allow me to educate you on some of my favorite sites. 
You’d still have plenty of time to yourself to do what boys your age do.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t kill you in your sleep and steal everything you own?”

Charles laughed. “First of all, I’m a tremendous judge of character. Second of all, what fool 
would take on Bellamy?”

Moody had to agree with that one. “What is it with him? He’s one scary dude when he wants to 
be.”

“He’s a magic man, darling, let it go. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I gotta be honest with you, Charles. I’d never fuck you. You’re a nice guy and all that, but you 
don’t do it for me.”

“I thought we settled that expectation.”

“Fucking includes your wanting to blow me or whatever.”

“Please, can we just table this discussion of sex? It really does make me feel queasy. I want a 
beautiful, smart, funny companion who is open to learning, to new experiences, and who won’t 
embarrass me in public. You wouldn’t be expected to be my houseboy or my boy toy or anything 
of the sort. I have a household staff. My hope is that eventually we would become friends, 
Moody. And when you move on to your own home, your own life and career, we’d still be 
friends. Is that so terrible?”

“I’ve never been kept before.”

Charles laughed. “Nor would you be now. There’s a big difference, darling. You’d be a paid 
companion, not my mistress. The perqs aren’t nearly so generous.”

“What if you got me to Savannah and you decided you hated me in close quarters?”

“Well then, in that unlikely event, I’d ship you first class to wherever you wanted to go. Los 
Angeles, New York, back to New Orleans. Doesn’t matter. What have you lost?”

“Would I have to spend all day and night with you? No offense, but I like to go out, and…”

“Moody, I have things to do, believe it or not. And you’ll have school. I’d like to think we could 
work something out, like gentlemen, so that you may have your social life and yet we’d still have 
time for going out to dine or visit friends. My only request would be that you do what you do in 
the homes of your sexual partners, don’t bring them to my house. It’s not a jealousy factor, it’s 
just that I get uncomfortable with strangers under my roof. I have a vast collection of valuables. 
That’s not to say your friends aren’t welcome, during normal hours. I’d like for you to make 
friends and bring them around. I love the energy of youth. Right now I’m living in a museum 
with my memories. You would do so much to spice it up for me. Do you like dogs?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I have three King Charles spaniels that I adore. Hamlet, Romeo and Richard.”

“Richard?”

“Richard the Third. I’m a Shakespeare fanatic.”

Moody laughed. “You’re very weird.”

“You don’t know the half of it, darling.”

“What are you two so serious about?” Bellamy placed a coffee service on the table in front of 
them as Charles beamed up at him. 

“I’m propositioning our young friend.”

Bellamy shook his head with a wry smile. “You’d better run, Moody. He may look harmless, but 
he isn’t.”

“Don’t tell him that. Let him find out for himself.”

“Nothing more pathetic than an old man with a young lover, Mom,” Bellamy warned. Charles 
slapped at his arm.

“Nothing of the sort. You have a dirty mind.”

Bellamy gave Moody a warning glance as he walked away. “Cream and sugar?” Charles asked, 
pouring a cup of strong brew for Moody who nodded, staring at the older man’s profile as he 
tried to unravel his game. 

*********

Boyd watched Brian dress the next morning. He still felt the burn in his ass from their start of the 
day fuck, and yet Brian was eager to get out of bed afterwards, to shower and dress. 

“Are you going to leave a tip on the dresser for me?” Boyd complained as Brian repressed a 
smile.

“No, I’ve had better.” He ducked as Boyd hurled a pillow in his direction. “What’s your 
damage? Don’t you have a job to go to?”

“Yeah. But you know what I’ll be doing today. I’ll be setting up an office in my gallery space so 
I can work remotely on the family business and also get going on the gallery conversion. I have 
no idea what you’re doing, because you refuse to tell me.”

“Do I have to tell you every move I make?”

“No, but you usually do. You give me some idea, anyway. It’s the mystery you’ve baked into 
this early appointment of yours that’s irritating me.”

“You think I’m meeting someone?”

Boyd smiled. “No, Brian. I don’t think you’re cheating on me.”

“Then what’s the big deal?”

“Okay, forget it. Do what you have to do. See you later.” Boyd fell back on the pillow with a 
scowl. Brian gave his image a quick scan in the mirror. He wasn’t sure why he cared what he 
looked like right now. How does one dress for this anyway?

“I’m going to see a shrink,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at his lover. “Happy?”

Boyd sat up and grinned at him. “Really? Yes, I am happy! Why haven’t you told me?”

“I just did.”

“Before now.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t go into it that way, Brian. It’s a good thing. It’s a show of strength.”

“It’s a promise I made to you and nothing more. Here’s the drill, Boyd. I agreed to do this and I 
will. But you will not ask me what goes on between this shrink and me. What we talked about, 
what he says to me, what I say to him, it’s personal. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“I mean it.”

“I completely respect your privacy, Brian. Will you at least tell me who he is?”

“Some guy Petra recommended.”

“Then he must be good.”

“I’m skeptical about this.”

“I know you are.” Boyd left the bed and walked, naked, over to Brian to embrace him. “But give 
it a chance. And thank you. I mean it. Thanks for living up to your promise.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“No. I know you better than that.”

They kissed and Brian let his hands shimmer over Boyd’s firm ass, feeling a flame flicker to life. 
He backed up a step. “I’m not going to see a shrink while popping wood, so go away.”

“You want to get together for lunch?”

“Maybe. Call me. I have a lot to do with Daphne or on our ad campaign surrounding the launch. 
But yeah, let’s try.”

“Hey, I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you love me. You just don’t love me crazy.”

“I do love you crazy. I just don’t love the hurt inside of you.”

Brian smiled slightly. “Okay, are we done?”

Boyd nodded, watching him leave, feeling a touch of insecurity as he hoped the experience 
wouldn’t be horrific for Brian. He wanted this to be a positive step, not a nightmare of reliving 
bad memories. After Brian left, Boyd pulled on a robe and went downstairs to find Moody at the 
kitchen table, drinking coffee. He poured himself a cup from the thermal carafe and sat down 
with his guest. 

“I’m leaving today,” Moody said as if to pre-empt a question about when he was going from 
Boyd. Boyd looked surprised.

“I think it’s too soon.”

“I’m okay. Brian left early.”

“Yeah, he has an appointment. I guess I missed the kids before they were off to school.”

“Yeah, Jane fed them and drove them there, even before Brian came down.”

“Damn. I usually like to do that myself.”

“You’re a good dad.”

“You really think so? Thanks, Moody. I try to be, but I wonder, sometimes. I never had much of 
a role model.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“Hungry? I am. I think I’ll scramble some eggs. Want to join me?”

“Sure. What do you want me to do?”

“Just sit, I can manage this on my own.”

As Boyd cooked, Moody contemplated bringing up a topic, and then said, “Charles wants me to 
go to Savannah with him.”

Boyd put some bread in the toaster and glanced at the handsome young man. “I see. What do you 
think about that?”

“He says he doesn’t want to fuck me. That it’s just because he wants a companion, or something. 
He wants me to finish school and maybe travel with him.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I don’t know,” Moody stared at his coffee cup with an intensity that had nothing to do with 
coffee. “My experience has been that they all want to fuck me.”

Boyd smiled and spooned the eggs onto two plates, following them with warm toast. The butter 
and jam was already on the table. “I don’t know him very well, but I don’t see why he’d lie to 
you about it. He doesn’t seem the type to lure young guys into his web. He’s a little thing. I think 
you could defend your honor against him with little effort. Let’s assume he’s telling the truth. Do 
you find that offer attractive?”

“Yes and no.”

“What’s yes and what’s no?”

“I never let anyone control me and if he’s paying my freight, maybe he’ll try or I’ll feel obligated 
or something. And I don’t know about school, it’s been a long time since I even thought about 
that shit. But I am tired of New Orleans, and after what happened with Noel, I really would like 
to get out of here. And if he would take me to other countries…how fine would that be?”

Boyd smiled. “And in a couple years, youll be old enough to work the clubs if you still want to 
do that. Who knows? You might pick up some techniques in Europe or Asia or wherever you’d 
go. My usual advice would be to forget it, Moody. I’d think the guy just wanted a toy boy. And 
you could find yourself in a very dangerous position in some foreign country. But Charles seems 
like a right guy to me. And we have a connection to him through Bellamy.”

“I’m thinking I may just go with him until I’m back to one hundred per cent. You know, take it 
easy for a little while, get my strength up. I’d be honest with him about the fact I probably 
wouldn’t stay.”

“A little vacation in Savannah? Nothing wrong with that. You can always come back and stay 
with us until you get re-established in New Orleans, if you decide to come back here.”

He smiled. “I feel like I had no one in my life who cared about me. And then I met you guys and 
that changed. I really do appreciate what you did for me, and Bellamy, too. Whatever it was he 
did. I’ve never had guys watch my back before. It feels…nice.”

Boyd reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “You’re a nice kid, Moody. We didn’t do that much. 
Brian feels a real tug for you, I think because he had so many issues of his own growing up. So 
much alienation in that family of his. I suspect he’ll be much more suspicious of your going with 
Charles, or of Charles’s motivations, if you decide to do that. But you have to make up your own 
mind. You can’t let others decide for you. Not even Brian. He wouldn’t let anyone do that to 
him, so don’t you, either.”

“I haven’t really decided. I’m still mulling it over.”

“I understand.”

“That Bellamy guy…he kind of scares me.”

“Yeah, he can be scary, I see that. But I think he’s fundamentally a good man, so I tend to 
discount the scary parts. Some of it he just can’t help. He was born with a gift that most of us 
consider dark.”

“I wouldn’t go unless he was okay with it.”

“That’s probably a good decision.”

“Daphne’s in love with him.”

“Looks that way. Looks like it may be mutual.”

“Who knew?” Moody said with a smile and Boyd nodded, pleased to see that he had eaten all of 
his breakfast. He didn’t blame Charles for wanting Moody around, he was a beautiful kid, and 
very clever. The sexless part of it seemed a little suspicious, but it was difficult for Boyd to 
factor in the age of the players. He got up to answer the phone. Bellamy said,

“Meet me at the Café du Monde in a half hour. We need to talk.”

“About?”

“Sugar.”

Boyd smiled and agreed. He told Moody to make himself at home as he went upstairs to shower 
and dress for his meeting.
Current Mood: contemplative
 
06:08 pm - BURN CHAPTER 82
Hello, is there anybody out there? (To quote Pink Floyd) Are you still here? I am. Sorry. I have 
been trying to juggle a few things that apparently were too big for my hands. Mainly my 
business. I can't say I have it under control, but I can say I'm working on it. To those who have 
sent me emails, I'm sorry. I haven't checked mail in weeks. I just haven't had time. I have another 
chapter written behind this one, and hope to post it in the next couple days after I work on it a 
little. I'm really sorry for the gap. I'll try to do better. You guys have been so loyal to me. I want 
to live up to that loyalty. Here's the latest, Brian


**********



“I’m not crazy,” Brian began. “I’m one of the most controlled people you’ll ever meet.” He took 
in the man facing him from an opposing brown suede chair. His name was Hiram Berg, and he 
wore a yarmulke with his suit. Brian idly wondered if he was the only Jewish man in this very 
Catholic city. He had to smile. Hiram may look as if he came from Brooklyn, but his drawl was 
as thick as any Southerner Brian had met. 

“Crazy? That’s not really a word we like to use in my game. No one thinks you’re crazy. But 
your control issues are probably worth discussing.”

“Are you gay?” Brian countered.

“Do you think that matters?”

“I told Petra I wanted a gay shrink.”

“Why? You’re not looking for a partner, are you? Because we have rules about that.”

They both laughed. “I just don’t want to waste a lot of time justifying the fact I’m a gay man in a 
relationship, with kids, in a society that doesn’t accept any of those facts. I’m not trying to be 
cured of my queerness. If you could cure me, I wouldn’t want it. I’m happy with who I am.”

“Okay, Brian. First of all, no shrink worth his or her credentials believes homosexuality is a 
mental disorder. At least no therapist still young enough to practice. So we won’t be wasting 
your time and money trying to convince you that you should shed your current family and live a 
heterosexual life.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“I question your bold assertion that you’re happy with who you are, however.”

Brian glared at him. “I’m not a self-hating queer, if that’s where you’re going.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Brian. I come into this a blank slate where you’re concerned. And 
you’re the one who will fill up that slate. It’s not about a cure. You’re not sick. There are as 
many self hating heterosexuals as homosexuals, believe it or not, and many reasons to hate one’s 
self that have little to do with sexual orientation. You have some pain you’re dealing with or you 
wouldn’t be here.”

“I’m here because I came very close to blowing it with my partner, the one man I can’t afford to 
lose. He told me the only way he would take me back is if I agreed to see a shrink.”

“That was probably the incident that led you to stop and reconsider, but you wouldn’t be here, 
Brian, if you didn’t want to try to deal with your own demons. Right?”

Brian crossed his legs, and picked at some invisible lint on the fabric covering his knee as he 
considered what the man just said. “Are you gay or not?”

“Not. Married to the same woman for twenty-two years. Does that matter? Because if it does, I 
can recommend a therapist who is also a gay man.”

Brian rolled his tongue along the inner surface of his jaw as he considered that offer. The win for 
him was that it could be a logical reason for delaying this misery, one that he could share with 
Boyd without appearing to be a slacker on his commitment. On the losing side, this was a logical 
excuse for delaying this misery. A crutch. Delaying the inevitable. “Let’s see how it goes,” he 
decided.

“Your choice.”

“I don’t get to lie down on a couch?”

Berg smiled. “We don’t do that. I don’t take notes or secretly fill out crossword puzzles while 
you talk, either.”

“Don’t expect big tearful scenes from me as I blubber my way through a breakthrough. That’s 
not who I am.”

“I don’t have any expectations, Brian. But let’s talk about your expectations. What is it you hope 
to accomplish through these sessions, other than fulfilling a promise to your partner?”

Brian looked around the room that was located on the street level of a small Creole cottage on 
Dauphine Street. Upstairs a child psychologist had offices. There was a private waiting room in 
this suite. Both it and the doctor’s office were decorated in calm shades of neutral. The crown 
molding was cream, while the walls were taupe. Plantation shutters that matched the molding 
were closed against the noise and glare from the street. “Did you have an interior designer do this 
for you with instructions to calm down the nutcases who come in here? Because it worked. It 
does make me feel calmer.”

“Let’s make a deal, Brian. If I ask you something that you aren’t ready to talk about, tell me that. 
Don’t try to guide me towards an unrelated subject because avoidance doesn’t work with me. I’m 
a pro.”

Brian chuckled at that instruction. It took most people a lot longer to see through his shift and 
slither. “What was your question?”

“My question was, what do you hope to accomplish through these sessions, other than fulfilling a 
promise to your partner?”

Brian felt his defenses and sense of humor fade when he thought about his promise to Boyd and 
how close he came to losing him. “I don’t want to have those feelings I had when I left Boyd. I 
don’t know how to make them go away.”

“What feelings are those, Brian?”

“That he would be better off without me. That I’m a human plague.”

Having said it, Brian felt a strange sense of relief. Just hearing the words spoken validated 
exactly what he was feeling when he left. Berg nodded. “Sometimes when people say the one 
they love would be better off without them, what they mean is they think they would be better 
off without their partner. Is that what you think, Brian?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Ok, you seem very intense on that point.”

“Look, I spent my whole life avoiding emotional entanglements. The first time I let myself get 
involved with someone turned out to be the disaster I knew it would be.”

“Tell me about that.”

“First, I almost got him killed by a gay basher.”

“You put him in danger?”

Brian looked into the man’s compassionate face and took a deep breath as he prepared to discuss 
the prom and what happened there for the first time in years.

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


Boyd knew this conversation with Bellamy was important, but he was finding it difficult to keep 
from thinking about Brian and how it was going for him. Bellamy snapped his fingers. Boyd 
reacted.

“Where’s your mind, man?”

“Sorry. I’m listening, it’s just…with Brian, I guess.”

“Problem?” Boyd couldn’t share and he made a quick excuse and devoted his attention to 
Bellamy. “I need to know how far you’re willing to go, Boyd.”

“I’m prepared to go as far as I need to go with the understanding that I don’t intend to bankrupt 
my company and I don’t intend to put all those people out of work. So it’s a balance.”

“And I need you to know that I can’t be and won’t be owned by one industry, one company, one 
outcome. I have to look at the larger economic and social issues. And while Coulter Mills may 
be the big dog in the hunt, you’re not the only dog. I don’t want to be the new boy put on the Hill 
to be played by Big Sugar.”

“You have to understand that as much as I respect your independence and statesmanship, 
Bellamy, I’m not investing millions of dollars and calling in all my chits to get you elected, only 
to watch you shit on my personal interests. It’s ugly, it’s disappointing to those who believe in 
the myth of perfect democracy, but it’s also life, as we now know it. If you decide to run, and 
you want my help, which is the only way you’ll get elected, then you need to give me your word 
that you’ll work with me on finding a solution to the problem that is sugar in this state.”

Bellamy leaned back, waving off a refill on his coffee. “Working with you, you say?”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we help each other. You can’t expect me to put you in office and then let you gut me.”

“And you can’t expect me to let you pull my strings.”

Facing off on the issues, Boyd was the first to smile. “So we find a happy medium, right?”

“You know I have the money to run my own campaign, don’t you? I don’t need your fortune.”

“Yes, I know your father left you a very wealthy young man. Just as my grandfather left me. But 
you must know, it takes more than money for a man to get elected to the Senate, especially a 
black man running for national office in a southern state. Leaving aside all your other strikes.”

Bellamy smiled. “I’m as much white as I am black.”

Boyd spooned some crystalline commerce into his coffee and smiled back. “In this state, degrees 
of color are meaningless so long as the color is there.”

“C’est vrai,” Bellamy agreed with a chuckle. 

“So, whose move is it?”

“I’d like to see some indication that you can get that old buzzard occupying that seat out of 
Washington, that’s what I’d like to see.”

“I can’t afford to alienate the good senator from Louisiana until I know for sure who will be 
running in his place.”

“Well now aren’t we just the epitome of the New South?” Bellamy said with a wide grin. “Two 
young men, one white, one not, both rich, both educated, both with a humanitarian as well as a 
self-serving side, striking a deal for the future.” He reached across the table and extended his 
hand to Boyd. “You kick that racist bastard out of the race and we’ll find that happy medium 
together, Mr. Coulter.”

“Deal, Mr. Beaufort,” Boyd shook his hand. They both grew suddenly quiet. The ridiculous 
aspects of these two young men meeting to reshape social and economic policy in Louisiana was 
suddenly daunting. “I’d like to see your estimates of what you think a Senate race would cost, 
Bellamy. I’d like to start planning an election committee. And you need a campaign manager.”

“Any suggestions?”

“I do have a suggestion. Fletcher.”

Bellamy looked surprised. “That Harvard boy who turned around that House of Representatives 
race last year?”

“He’s a wunderkind. He knew just what to do. He’s a spin doctor. He’s exactly what you need.”

Bellamy just nodded, unwilling to commit or not commit at this early stage. “I need to talk to 
Charles. I need to find out how much he’s willing to spend to have me elected. I don’t intend to 
go broke in favor of my ego and Charles has a fortune of his own. Much more than me.”

“Charles will give you whatever you want. He adores you. You’re his child.”

“And you? You’re somebody’s child, too, Boyd. If you do this thing, you will alienate yourself 
from your family, irrevocably. Have you thought about that?”

Boyd shrugged. “Brian’s my family. My children are my family. My sister Lisette and her 
partner are my family. As for the rest of them? I’ll get by. I have to do what’s right. I have to 
right my father’s wrongs to the people who have depended on Coulter Mills for generations,” he 
sighed and then managed a smile. “But this weekend, I’m going to Atlanta to see a fabulous 
artist get his just desserts at the High Museum.”

“I’ll be there. Thanks for the invitation. I was a great admirer of Jared’s work.”

“I know. I saw the painting in your dining room.”

“Did it disturb you? Given that you and Jared…”

“No,” Boyd interrupted. “Ancient history. I loved seeing it there.”

“Brian knows about Jared, right?”

“Of course.”

“Can I say this? You two make a good couple, you and Brian. You fit.”

Boyd nodded. “I got lucky. Can I say this? You and Daphne aren’t so bad, either.”

Bellamy frowned, unsure of how to respond to that observation. “She’s a dilemma.”

“In what way?”

“I’m not in the market for a girlfriend. You know, someone steady in my life.”

“I wasn’t in the market for a boyfriend when I met Brian and he sure as hell wasn’t in the market 
when he met me. What does that have to do with anything? When it strikes, it strikes. We just try 
to survive the shocks.”

Bellamy tapped his coffee cup against Boyd’s cup. “Here’s to survival, my man.”

“Survival,” Boyd responded, feeling a shudder as a chill autumn breeze snaked through the open 
air café and brought with it a reminder that the election they were discussing was just over a year 
away. In one year, he could participate in the reshaping of a company, an economic system, and 
the United States Senate. Strangely enough, none of that seemed beyond his ability to achieve.
 
 
04:40 am - BURN CHAPTER 83
Hi, Burniacs, posting for the Big B. Enjoy! Ran



It didn’t escape Boyd’s notice that Brian was unusually quiet throughout the 
evening. He let him have that space, and kept the children occupied and out of 
Brian’s way. When the little ones were in bed, Boyd sat beside him on the couch 
and handed him a cold beer. An Italian soccer match was on the widescreen and 
Brian was marginally watching the play. 

“You want to talk about it?” Boyd asked. Brian shook his head. “Did you like 
him at least?”

“He’s fine.”

He never even looked at Boyd as he spoke. “Are you hating on me for asking that 
you go?”

Now Brian’s glance hit home. “I’m going for me. Because I agreed to face these 
issues, not because you gave me an ultimatum.”

“Okay,” Boyd nodded. “Good answer.”

“Can we drop it?”

“Sure,” he reached over to twist a strand of Brian’s hair around his fingertip. 
Brian didn’t flinch. “You still up to going to Atlanta tomorrow?”

“To honor your old lover? Sure. Why the hell not?”

Boyd took the remote from Brian’s limp hand and switched off the game. 
“Alright, Kinney, let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” he reached for the remote, but Boyd kept it out of his aim. 
“Now you’re being childish,” Brian accused.

“That crack about Jared was childish. This isn’t about Jared and me. This is 
about Jared’s art. It’s to honor his life’s work. I gave up on Jared long before he 
died. He was never your rival.”

Brian squeezed the bridge of his nose, a sign Boyd recognized as stress. “I’m 
sorry. I know that. I want to go to Atlanta. I like his work. I guess this whole 
process hit me harder than I thought it would. I’m sure it’s all a matter of getting 
used to it.”

“You’re entitled to bleed a little, Brian. I just want you to know I’m here if I can 
help and I’ll give you all the space you need.”

Brian reached out and pulled Boyd closer. “I don’t want space between us. When 
do we leave?”

“Wheels up at ten in the morning.”

“I could get used to this travel via private jet, you know?”

“No fun and games this time. Not only are the kids going, and Jane, but Petra and 
Lisette are going, also Jared’s mother and now Bellamy and Daphne.”

“Bellamy and Daphne?”

“Interesting, no?”

“Interesting, yes.”

“It’s a highly visible event for an African American politician to attend, even if it 
isn’t in Louisiana.”

“He’s coming out as the Sugar King?”

“I’m the sugar king,” Boyd corrected him with a smile. “Bellamy is his own 
man.”

Brian met his lover’s eyes and laughed. “Uh-huh. What are the kids going to do 
while we’re rubbing elbows with the beautiful people of Atlanta?”

“The new Aquarium of the South is open, and they’ll also be going to Six Flags 
with Jane. They’ll be fully occupied. Oh, and of course, Gus will have a grand 
time, too.”

“Gus?”

“Didn’t I mention? Lindsay’s bringing Gus down and is meeting us in Atlanta. 
She wants to see the exhibition, and then will link up with Jane to help with the 
kids.”

Brian smiled. “You’re really a tricky little thing, aren’t you?”

“Little?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know you miss him and it’s just a long weekend in Atlanta. He’ll be fine.”

Brian leaned in to kiss Boyd on the mouth. As he did so, he grabbed the remote 
and turned on the game. “Now can I get back to my hot Italian boys in shorts?”

Boyd laughed as he mussed Brian’s hair and returned to his open briefcase on the 
table. 

The following morning, the weather cooperated as the sleek jet filled up with 
passengers. Even with this larger group, there were still three open seats on the 
aircraft. Boyd was deferential to Jared’s mother, who had been through her own 
kind of hell in dealing with her troubled and troubling children. She was staying 
in Atlanta after the event, visiting a sister and her family, so she wouldn’t be 
returning with them. Jane kept the children occupied with puzzle books as 
Daphne beamed at Brian.

“I’ve never been on a private jet before!”

“Don’t get used to it. When you’re flying on the job, it’s coach all the way.”

Just before the door closed, two other passengers boarded. “Sorry, we had trouble 
getting through the gate,” Ted announced. “They kept asking us for the tail 
number of the jet. What the hell is that?”

Frank laughed and pushed him forward, towards an empty seat. “Come on, Ted. I 
think they’re waiting for us so they can take off.”

Brian glanced across the aisle at his lover. “You invited my whole staff?”

“Ted was instrumental in recovering those paintings. He was the one who braved 
the cemetery vault with me, remember? It only seemed fair that he go. And Frank 
had the letter with the clues.”

Brian shrugged as Ted and Frank filled two of the last three seats and the jet took 
off. It was a short ride to Atlanta, and they landed at a small, private airport north 
of the monolithic commercial hub that was Hartsfield. Sleek limos waited to 
transport the passengers, who were headed in different directions. Jared’s mother 
was going to her sister’s house in Cobb county. Bellamy and Daphne were 
staying at a townhouse belonging to his friend in Virginia Highlands. Ted and 
Frank were at a more economical Marriott, rather than the swank Four Seasons 
that was within walking distance of the museum, and that was the destination for 
the rest of the party. 

Atlanta was a good five degrees cooler than was New Orleans, with half the 
mugginess of the Crescent City. Brian silently wondered if it was too chilly for 
the kids to go to Six Flags, but he made no issue of it. “Have you been here 
before?” Boyd asked as they were driven to mid-town.

“Yeah, a couple of times, on business. But we met downtown and I stayed there, 
at a Ritz. I remember going to this huge gay club, two in fact, both off the same 
parking lot.”

“Yeah, Backstreet and the Armory. Backstreet closed due to allegations of illegal 
activity, drugs on premise or something—imagine that—but I think the Armory 
is still open, or was.”

“I remember some hot guys.”

Boyd smiled. “I’ll just bet you do.”

“Atlanta has a large gay and lesbian population,” Lisette volunteered. “It’s gay 
friendly by the sheer numbers of our tribe.”

“My kind of town,” Brian observed, watching the highway wind into the tall 
buildings of central mid-town. Lindsay and Gus were in their room at the hotel 
when the party arrived and Brian went down to fetch his son as soon as they were 
checked in. Gus ran into his open arms as Lindsay beamed at them.

“He’s missed you.”

“Mutual,” Brian said as Gus straddled his hip and reached over to honk his nose. 
Brian was always surprised how being with Gus was such a tension reliever. He 
got outside his own head and left his worries at the door as he concentrated on 
his kid. 

“We gonna go see the fish, Daddy,” Gus informed him. Brian nodded.

“I hear they have a the biggest shark in the world there. But you can’t go 
swimming with him because he’ll eat you up in one bite,” Brian mimicked 
swallowing the top of Gus’s head as he squealed and struggled out of his arms. 

“Les’ go!”

Brian laughed. “Settle down, cowboy. Want to go say hello to Belle and Mac?”

Gus headed towards the door at an enthusiastic pace and Brian called over his 
shoulder to Lindsay, “We’re in Suite 1408 and Jane and the kids are in 1412. 
We’re leaving for the museum at four. You can coordinate the rest with Jane.”

She watched him lead her son out of the room, noticing with a shimmer of 
disappointment that Brian was all about Gus, and really had nothing left for her. 

****

The townhouse Bellamy was using was unoccupied while the owners were in 
Europe, so they had the run of the place. “I guess I didn’t realize how beautiful 
Atlanta is,” Daphne gushed as they sat on a terrace off the master bedroom, 
enjoying the mild fall weather and taking in the glorious foliage of the many 
trees. Some were scarlet, others gold, some a blend of both. 

“People have a hell of a time with allergies here because of all the foliage,” he 
said, filling their wine stems with a rich merlot he “borrowed” from the wine safe 
in the kitchen. “But if you aren’t a victim to your sinuses, it is a pretty place.”

“I’m so glad you asked me to come with,” she tapped her glass against his as he 
sat down with her. “The private jet was very cool. I guess I never thought of 
Boyd as being quite that rich. He’s very unpretentious.”

Bellamy found that funny. “Coulter money is old and deep, Daphne. Never 
underestimate how wealthy he is or how shrewd he is, under all that politesse.”

“Really? I think of Brian as the shrewd one in that pair.”

“I’m sure he is, but there are two main breeds of old money Southern white boys. 
One is the country club loving, golf playing, coupon clipping nascent alcoholic 
and deeply, if hidden for social reasons, ingrained racist. The other is the well-
mannered shark that doesn’t care about race or social status or any of the old 
underpinnings of Southern money, he only cares about increasing or holding onto 
what he inherited. Boyd is more the latter, but with a hint of a social conscience.”

She pondered that. “I used to think Brian was so drawn to Boyd because he was 
blond and beautiful and that’s his type. But the longer they’re together and the 
deeper they fall into their relationship, the more I see how matched they are in 
every way. Sometimes that kind of matching surprises you, doesn’t it?”

He met her smile with a shake of his head. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been 
much into long term relationships.”

“Why is that, do you think?”

“No time, no interest. I don’t know. My career has always been my focus. A 
relationship requires dedication of time and effort. I haven’t been willing to give 
that to anyone.”

“Will you ever?”

He met her question with a slight wince. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Daphne wisely changed gears. “What did you do to scare that awful Noel away 
from Moody?”

“I took him to the source. He wants to play vampire? He may as well see what 
it’s really like.”

“What do you mean? Like you know a real vampire?”

He shrugged. “You believe what you want to believe, Daphne. I operate in the 
here and now.”

“But there’s no such thing as a vampire, not really. Is there?”

Another shrug. “I don’t follow him around and see where he dines. I only know 
what I know.”

“What happened with your mother?”

Her abrupt change of course startled Bellamy. “What do you mean?”

“Why were you raised by your dad and Charles and why the distance with 
Pearl?”

“It’s too tortured and complex to give you a pat answer. Just suffice it to say as I 
got older, having a mother who was known as a voodoo queen got very old. 
Whatever my father was into, he was quiet about it, outside his inner circle.”

“But you’re a voodoo guy, too.”

He shot a glare in her direction. “I don’t think of myself that way, Daphne. Yes, I 
was born with certain powers I can’t deny my truth, but I don’t pimp myself as a 
voodoo practitioner. I don’t exploit it.”

“And you think Pearl does?”

“I don’t think it. I know it.”

“But she does good with it, Bellamy.”

“I know that. I know she isn’t out there hexing people and playing destructive 
mind games with fearful white folks. But she’s still making her living off of it, 
and I don’t agree with that.”

“She has to make a living some way, doesn’t she? Single black woman from the 
swamps, wanting a real life in a real city, how easy do you think that was back 
then? Let me tell you something, it’s not that easy now, and I’m from 
Pittsburgh!”

Bellamy laughed at her comparison. “You crack me up, girl.”

“Happy to amuse you,” she grumped and he leaned over to kiss her. 

“Don’t get huffy on me now. Want to walk to one of these little cafes around 
here and get some lunch?”

She nodded, a little heady from the wine. Food would be a good grounding. They 
left the townhouse to walk the cluster of shops and restaurants in the area, hand 
in hand, a young and attractive couple amid the interesting blend of genders, 
races and ages that was midtown Atlanta. 

**********

Brian took one last forward lunge and then ejaculated far up the tight comfort of 
his partner’s ass. Boyd moaned as he felt Brian grow heavy above him. It only 
took the assurance that they were finally private before the bed in the hotel suite 
was due a christening. 

“So much for therapy making your dick limp,” Boyd teased him as he shrugged 
Brian off of his body and rolled over, mopping at his own slimy belly with a 
towel brought from the bathroom for that purpose. The sheet was damp beneath 
him. They were hell on linens. Sex between men was a messy proposition, but a 
good one. 

Brian laughed at that repetition of a crack he made the night before when he just 
wasn’t in the mood. “Temporarily limp. I didn’t say it was permanent 
impotence.”

“Thank god.”

Brian smiled and reached over to kiss Boyd’s cheek. “You only love me for the 
big nine.”

“Rounding up again?”

“Complaining?”

“No. Any bigger and I’d have a permanent limp. If your goal was to make me 
want to skip the gallery installation and spend the day in bed with you, you 
reached it.”

“That might be a little difficult to explain to the fleet of people we brought with 
us.”

“Really? Do you think they’d be surprised?” Boyd asked as he got up and 
trudged towards the bathroom. “Want to take a shower with me?”

Brian groaned, stretched and followed him into the bathroom, their private 
interlude all but over.

****

At The Flying Biscuit, Bellamy suddenly stopped eating and stared past Daphne 
into the distance. At first she didn’t notice, continuing with the conversation they 
had been having, but when he didn’t respond, she looked at him and frowned. 
His expression was vague, as if he were seeing past the door, into eternity. She 
looked over her shoulder in the direction of his stare, but saw nothing except 
other diners. Beyond the glass windows and door was the busy avenue.

“What are you looking at?” She asked. No response. “Bellamy?” Nothing. She 
touched his hand. No response. Becoming alarmed, she rubbed his arm and 
demanded, “Bell, are you alright?”

He shook off his fugue state and stared at her, uncomprehending. She saw a look 
in his eyes that she had never seen before. If it were anyone but Bellamy she 
would describe it as fear. Bellamy didn’t seem capable of fearing anything. 
“What’s wrong?”

He took a long draw of his iced tea and then shook his head as if to clear away 
the images in his brain. “I don’t know.”

“Are you ill?”

“No.”

“Bell, you’re scaring me.”

He ran a hand over his forehead, and when she saw that it was shaking, her 
apprehension grew. “Someone just walked over my grave,” he said.

If anyone else said that, she would shrug it off as the kind of thing people say 
when they get a sudden chill. When Bellamy said it, she was worried. “What do 
you mean?”

“I just experienced a premonition of danger.”

“To you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then who?”

His gray-green eyes focused on her pretty face as he replied, “Someone in my 
life. I don’t know more than that. Just someone in my life.” He squeezed 
Daphne’s hand tightly. The rest of their meal went unfinished as both 
experienced an abrupt loss of appetite.
Current Mood: anxious
 
07:26 pm - BURN CHAPTER 84












For one sweet moment there was nothing in Brian’s world.

No pain. 

No fear. 

No sensation at all. 

And then everything unraveled at once. 

He was face down in the grass, covered in blood. Where had he been one minute earlier? His 
mind began to replay events in an instant, against his will. The evening didn’t begin badly. How 
did it end like this? And where, God where, was Boyd?

To be continued...
 
08:12 am - BURN CHAPTER 85


Earlier that evening, Boyd was nervous as they walked the short distance from their hotel to the 
museum. Crossing one of many Peachtree Streets that intersected the city in a maze of confusion, 
Brian asked, “Where are all the damned peach trees, anyway? I haven’t seen any.”

Boyd laughed as his question brought him out of his quiet concentration. “There are no peach 
trees in Atlanta. It’s a typo.”

“A typo?”

“Yeah, Georgia does have great peaches, but they aren’t grown in Atlanta. When this city was 
established, the founding fathers were naming the streets and someone suggested ‘pitch tree’ 
street. Pitch trees were what they called pine trees. As you may have noticed, Atlanta is lousy 
with pines. The name was recorded as ‘peach’ instead of ‘pitch’ and the rest is local history.”

Brian smirked at him. “You’re making that up.”

“Scout’s honor,” Boyd held up the salute. 

“I’m glad they made the mistake, then, because Pitch Tree Street sounds stupid.”

“On another local historian note, Margaret Mitchell, the author of ‘Gone With the Wind’ was 
killed crossing that intersection back there. Hit by a car.”

“That’s reaching for star status, isn’t it? Atlanta gets burned to the ground by General Sherman, 
then becomes famous for a book that depicts that fire.”

Boyd grinned at his partner. “And what exactly is Pittsburgh’s claim to fame other than its 
steel?”

Brian leaned into Boyd’s hip as they waited for the light to change. He tilted his pelvis forward, 
subtly, so that Boyd could feel his crotch. “That.”

Boyd shot him a bemused glance as he stepped out of his press. “Light’s green.”

As they walked, again, Brian asked, “Nervous?”

“I wouldn’t be if you didn’t ask me that every five minutes.”

“Right. We left the girls at the hotel because they were too slow in getting ready to suit you. We 
didn’t have the time to meet Ted and Frank for a drink in the bar. And now we’ll be at least a 
half hour early for this event. But you’re not nervous, no.”

“I was a litigator, Brian. I’m used to speaking in front of people.”

“Not this kind of speech. Not this personal.”

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with what I’m saying?”

“Yes, Boyd. For the tenth time, I’m fine with it.” He wasn’t completely comfortable with Boyd’s 
moving tribute to a former lover, but he figured that was his problem, not Boyd’s. He wouldn’t 
impose his unreasonable jealousy issues on Boyd. This night was about celebrating the work of a 
man who died too young. Brian wanted to rise above any petty emotions he felt about Jared Hall. 

“That’s it. That’s the High Museum.” Boyd pointed out a low-slung alabaster contemporary 
building that sprawled across an expanse of green grass. 

“It’s beautiful,” Brian observed. “Very modern.”

“Yeah. Apparently one of the Coca-Cola heirs offered a challenge to Atlanta. He would give 
seven and a half million towards the construction of a museum if they could match it with 
donations. They raised a lot more than that and here’s the result. Nice, isn’t it? I picked it out 
because it’s so beautiful and dedicated to contemporary artists, and I like the idea of it being a 
southern city,” he suddenly stopped and held onto Brian’s arm. “Okay, I am nervous. A lot of 
people will be here. The local Human Rights Commission team, the ACLU, the Martin Luther 
King, Jr. Foundation, a blend of gay rights organizations, African-American organizations and 
Atlanta’s rich and beautiful. What the hell am I doing here?”

Brian smiled and squeezed the back of Boyd’s neck affectionately. “You’re not African-
American, there’s no hiding that fact, but you’re queer and you’re rich and you’re beautiful and 
you’re southern. You’re going to have to go with your strengths.”

Boyd laughed and leaned in to kiss him. “You always know just what to say. Let’s go.”

Table 1280, the sleek restaurant that was located in the museum, provided tapas and cocktails to 
the stellar crowd at the private function. Waiters circulated among the guests and Boyd seemed 
to relax when the people he knew arrived. The reception was held in a room adjacent to the 
closed gallery where Jared’s work had been hung. After a few speeches and recognitions, the 
doors would open and everyone would be free to circulate among the new collection, as well as 
the rest of the light and airy museum. 

Brian saw Boyd’s look of tension and gave him an encouraging wink when the museum’s 
director called him to the podium. The man introduced him as the generous benefactor who made 
this exhibition possible. Boyd didn’t withdraw the notes he had made from his pocket as he 
looked out over the crowd. Instead, he thanked them all for coming to the event and then spoke 
from his heart. “I especially want to recognize two people here tonight. Jared’s mother, Alma 
Hall, was kind enough to come with us from New Orleans. Welcome Alma,” he smiled at her as 
the room greeted the shy woman with warm applause. 

“And my partner, Brian Kinney, who supported me in this decision, as he does in all aspects of 
my life. Thank you, Brian.” Brian crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Boyd, not 
expecting this singling out. The applause burned in his ears as his blood burned in his cheeks. 

Pleased with shaking up his unflappable partner, Boyd went on to say, “When I met Jared Hall, 
he was showing his work in bars and selling to patrons in order to get by. But as poor as he was, 
he never sold out on his dream, on his calling, in order to work a regular job and have some 
steady income. He would truly rather starve than do anything other than paint. He was what 
many would call a troubled genius, fighting serious bipolar disorder for most of his life. It finally 
got the better of him. He died too soon, but he left a legacy of work that we are all privileged to 
share. We can’t spend our time wishing he had been around longer, wondering where his 
creativity might have led him, longing for more examples of his talent, because what happened 
can never be changed.

“What we are left with is a body of work that is the incredible vision of its creator. If we can 
honor Jared, let’s do it by pledging to support the research and treatment of bipolar disorder, 
because people in this room are undoubtedly being treated for it now, and you know how 
debilitating it can be. Let’s do it by teaching and living racial tolerance and inclusion, and the 
acceptance of sexual orientations that may not match with your own. Let’s teach our children to 
celebrate the differences among us and to follow their own bliss, no matter where it leads them. I 
loved Jared. I loved his work. I believed in him and his promise. I pray that he’s found his peace. 
I invite you all to share in his brilliance.”

Enthusiastic applause ensued as he left the dais. He paused to kiss Jared’s mother on the cheek 
while the director opened the doors to the exhibition. Boyd was stopped many times by guests 
who congratulated him on his speech and on his generosity as he tried to make his way to Brian. 
When he finally reached his partner’s side, Brian shook his head slowly, and said, “You are so 
toast.”

Boyd feigned innocence. “You didn’t like my speech?”

“Toast,” Brian repeated, although inside, he was filled with pride for his lover’s strength and 
vision. 

“You two make an absolutely gorgeous couple,” a well-dressed matron enthused as she walked 
by, dripping diamonds and leaving behind a whiff of Cartier’s Kiss of the Dragon perfume. 

A photographer for the museum and for the local media took a couple pictures of them, and then 
Boyd leaned close to Brian and whispered, “Let’s go make a quick round of the gallery and then 
get the hell out of here.”

Brian smiled. He liked that idea. “I’m going to take a piss. I’ll meet you inside.”

Boyd nodded and let his fingers trail down Brian’s arm. He smiled over his shoulder at him as he 
went into the gallery. Brian watched him walk away. He felt filled with something he couldn’t 
quite identify. Pride, love, peace, comfort, inclusion; a gumbo of all of those emotions were 
wrapped up in one man, one relationship. 

A steady stream of guests headed into the gallery, while Brian turned left to find the bathroom. 

That was all he remembered until he found himself lying face down on the grass, covered in 
blood. He heard distant sounds around him, but it was like listening to a conversation under 
water. Every sound was muffled, difficult to decipher. Not only did his ears seem to be misfiring, 
but a sharp and persistent ringing further impeded his ability to hear. He pushed himself up to a 
sitting position, ticking off possible injuries as he did so. Everything seemed to hurt, but nothing 
was acutely painful. He rubbed a hand across his face and moaned as his palm raked over shards 
of glass that were impaled his cheeks, his chin, even his throat. Luckily none had penetrated his 
eyes. He automatically plucked them out, letting the blood course freely down his face. His 
hands were also dotted with broken glass. As he pulled out the slivers, the clouds enclosing his 
mind began to lift. 

He struggled to his feet and looked around him. 

All he could see was chaos. Flashing lights of emergency vehicles illuminated people dressed in 
high fashion that was stained with blood. They wandered around in the dark like hungry 
zombies, while men in uniforms tried to restore order. In the distance, something was burning. 
Brian turned and saw the alabaster shell of a section of the High framed in a halo of flames. 
Firemen were flooding it with water. The more bizarre vision was that the face an adjoining 
section of the building had collapsed in on itself. A pile of rubble and twisted steel framing was 
veiled in a plume of smoke and cement dust. 

And that’s when Brian remembered.

He had been walking to the bathroom after separating from Boyd. He recalled a bright flash and 
then something invisible and loud and deadly knocked him back off his feet. He went through a 
glass wall and fell on the grass, while spears of broken glass rained down on him. He must have 
passed out. Someone must have rolled him over or he did it himself. Maybe they wrote him off 
as dead and ministered to other victims.

Boyd!

“Brian!” Daphne stumbled over to him, holding tightly to his arm. She was covered in so much 
grey dust she looked like a ghost version of herself. “Oh thank god you’re alright!”

His hearing was still impaired, made more difficult by all the noise around him. “Where’s Boyd? 
Have you seen him?”

“You’re bleeding. Let me help you get some medical attention.”

He shook free of her. “Where the hell is Boyd?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. Or Lisette. Or Petra. Or Lindsay. Bellamy’s helping the 
rescuers. People are apparently trapped in the rubble.”

Trapped? Rubble? He was still dazed, uncomprehending, unable to put this together. That 
moment of unconsciousness must have been more serious than he thought. Maybe it was several 
moments. For all he knew, it could have been an hour. “What happened?”

“Some people say it was a gas line, but Bellamy says it was a bomb.”

“A bomb?” Brian couldn’t process that information. “Who bombs a museum?”

“I don’t know, Brian. A maniac? A fanatic? But you need to get someone to look at you. I think 
you need stitches.”

“I have to find Boyd,” he told her, and left her there among the zombies as he went in search of 
the missing.
Current Mood: shocked
 
11:08 am - BURN CHAPTER 86



First, panic. 

In utter darkness, breathing air that was choked with dust and smoke, intense pain tore through 
his body leaving Boyd disoriented and panicked. He couldn’t move. He felt as if his legs were 
pressed into the earth by a ton of cement. Reaching down, he realized they were. Blinded by the 
dark, he could feel the outer edges and smooth expanse of concrete that covered his limbs like a 
sadistic blanket. There was a tiny gap above his left leg that meant something had wedged the 
wall to keep it from collapsing completely above him. He knew if whatever lever balanced this 
weight failed, the heft of the wall would sever his legs and end his life.

Struggling was useless. His right leg was completely trapped. And the gap was not wide enough 
to allow his left leg to pull free. He feared that struggling could even cause the delicate balance 
of the concrete to fail. There was a source of light somewhere, he realized, because he could see 
shadow and the dust was being lifted and swirled by incoming air. At least he wouldn’t 
suffocate. Not yet. Not unless the whole structure caved in. 

He slowly understood that the bright flash of the explosion had momentarily blinded him, and 
that his vision was just now returning. As was his sense of hearing, despite the high-pitched 
buzzing in his ears.

Brian! Where the hell was Brian?

He heard the wails and terrorized voices of those trapped with him. Looking around, he spotted 
blonde hair, saturated with blood. A limp hand rested on rubble, wearing a ring he recognized. 
“Lisette!” he shouted to his sister. A slight movement of the hand, and then,

“Boyd?”

“Are you able to move?”

She turned to look at him, half of her face streaked in gore. She seemed dazed, as if she weren’t 
part of this horror. He noticed a wide metal support beam was pinning her abdomen to the 
ground. Beneath the steel, the silvery fabric of her dress was blood stained. He stretched his arm 
towards her, as far as he could reach, wincing at the pain that even slight movement caused. She 
reached out her arm to him and their fingers touched. Her skin felt abnormally cool. Shock, he 
reasoned.

“Lis, stay with me.”

“I don’t understand… what…?”

He didn’t fully understand, either. “We’ll be fine, just hang on,” he encouraged her, ignoring his 
own fears.

A vibration moved against his hip and he realized the cell phone in his jacket pocket was alerting 
him to a call. How bizarre it was that in all this chaos, modern technology trudged on. He used 
his free hand to carefully withdraw the device and push the green button. 

“Boyd?”

Brian! Thank God, he thought, thank God! “Yeah, are you alright?”

“Oh Jesus,” he heard the extreme relief in Brian’s voice. “I’m looking all over for you! Where 
are you?”

“I…I’m not sure.”

“Meet me at Peachtree Street, in front of the building. Boyd, we have to find Lisette and Lindsay 
and Petra.”

“I’m trapped, Brian.”

“Trapped? What are you saying?”

“There’s debris, a ton of debris. I can’t really see the sky. But there’s air coming in from 
somewhere. I hear noises out there. Lisette is with me and she’s badly hurt. We need help.”

“Fuck,” Brian’s fear and frustration bubbled over. “Fuck! Can you identify anything to help me 
find you?”

“No, it’s dark. My legs are trapped by a fallen wall. If it falls all the way over, I’ll be crushed. 
They need to be careful moving this shit around. It hurts, Brian. It hurts bad. And Lisette is in 
shock. Get some help.”

“I’m going to get help,” Brian said, his calm artificially restored. “I’m walking over to these 
firemen. They’ll want to talk to you. They’re the experts. They’ll get you out. I’m here. I’m 
waiting.”

“Don’t go away. I love you, Brian.”

“I’m going nowhere. I love you, too. But I have to talk to these guys. Hold on.”

“So hard to breathe,” Lisette moaned. “Can’t make my chest move.”

“Keep breathing, Lis,” Boyd told her. “You have to make yourself breathe.”

A man came on the line, unfamiliar, deeply southern. “Boyd, my name is Richard. I’m with the 
Atlanta Fire Department and we’re going to get you out of there. Can you describe where you 
are? Tell us anything you can to help us pinpoint your location.”

Boyd used the ambient light of his phone, moving it around his vicinity to illuminate what he 
could. He saw some things he didn’t want to see. He saw death in hideous forms, within easy 
reach. He hoped he wasn’t seeing his immediate future. And then he saw a twisted canvas and 
said, “There’s a painting near here that was called ‘Calamity’. It hung on the far south wall of the 
gallery. I guess it could have been thrown for miles by the explosion, but if it fell close to where 
it once hung, we must be near the south wall, or what’s left of it. I think I was standing in front 
of that painting when everything went to hell.”

“That’s a great help, Boyd. What else can you tell us? We’re already looking at the museum 
plans to pinpoint that location.”

“There’s a lot of rubble, but also a huge section of wall that is at a slight angle over the scene. 
It’s unstable. My sister and I, and probably others, are at the mercy of this wall. If it falls, we’ll 
be crushed. You can’t just bulldoze your way in here. People are everywhere, some appear dead, 
others are badly wounded. There’s a heavy steel beam crossing over my sister. Every once in 
awhile, something groans and falls and the whole place shakes. We don’t have a lot of time. Do I 
smell smoke?”

“You don’t need to worry about the fire. It’s been contained and it’s nowhere near where you 
are. I’m giving you back to your friend while I brief the rescue team. Try to stay on the line, 
Boyd. You’ve been a big help.”

When Brian got the phone back, he followed the fireman to the command point as he spoke to 
Boyd. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I’m managing it. I’m more worried about Lisette.”

“Petra?” Lisette said and Boyd asked Brian, who sighed.

“I don’t know. All I know is that Bellamy and Daphne are alright. Nothing on the others.” He 
became annoyed as he watched the firemen pour over architectural renderings of the museum. 
“What’s the plan?” He asked and a fireman responded,

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step back. You should get treatment for those facial 
abrasions.”

“My name is Brian and I want to know what the plan is. You can’t just tear into that debris and 
chance collapsing that wall. There are people under it.”

“Brian, I know you’re concerned for your friend, but…”

“He’s not my friend!” Brian exploded. “He’s my partner, my husband, you understand the 
difference?”

“Calm down, Brian,” Boyd tried, but Brian wasn’t having it.

“I won’t be dismissed.”

Fireman Richard said, “He has contact with one of the victims. He needs to stay close by. Just let 
us do our job, Brian, okay? I know it’s frustrating but we know what we’re doing.”

“Brian, you’re bleeding,” Bellamy came over, his clothes covered in dust, the smell of smoke 
clinging to him like cheap cologne. 

“I’m okay. I have Boyd on the phone. Where have you been?”

“I helped them pull some people out of a section of the gallery, over there. Lindsay was one of 
them. She doesn’t appear to be too badly hurt, but she’s in shock and her arm is probably 
fractured. Ted went to the hospital with her. He’s okay. Frank is too. He’s been helping.”

“Did you hear that Boyd?” Brian said. “Frank, Ted, and Lindsay are okay. Still no word on 
Petra.”

“No, that’s not true,” Bellamy interrupted. “Petra’s helping out with field triage. I told her I 
would try to find Lisette for her. Her medical skills are badly needed right now.”

“Boyd, tell Lisette Petra is fine. Bell, go get her.”

He nodded and left as Boyd relayed the message to his sister who managed a little smile as she 
said, “I knew it. Can I talk to her?”

“Put Petra on the phone, Brian.”

“Bellamy has gone to get her.”

“Have someone call Jane. Tell her to bring the children back to the hotel and don’t let them 
watch television. Don’t let them talk to anyone, even family.”

“I’m not breaking this call, Boyd. When Bell gets back, I’ll ask him to do that.”

“All Jared’s art…lost.”

“Don’t think about that now.”

“I can’t even feel my legs, Brian.”

“That’s probably a good thing.”

“No, they hurt at first, but now I feel nothing.”

“Maybe your body is just protecting you.”

“I want out.”

“I know, Boyd, I know. But be patient. They want to do this right.” Brian cast a glare at the 
firemen, but they were engrossed in their game plan. When Petra rushed up with Bellamy, 
covered in the blood of others, her dark hair loose and wild and littered with dust, she motioned 
for the phone in mute panic. “Boyd, Petra is here. Can you put Lisette on?”

Boyd’s fear was that he would pass the phone to his sister and she would lose consciousness 
before she could give it back, cutting off his link to Brian, to the world beyond this terror. In the 
end, he had to take that chance. He couldn’t deny her the opportunity to talk to her partner when 
he knew how much it meant to him to hear Brian’s voice. “Lis, I’m going to hand you my phone. 
Petra wants to talk to you. Please be very careful not to drop it, and give it back when you’re 
through. You think you can do that?”

She answered by opening her fingers. He carefully laid the phone in her palm and she slowly, 
painfully drug the device up to her ear. “Hi, baby,” she said in a whisper and Brian watched 
Petra’s face reflect a sudden, profound agony that he understood completely. He swallowed hard 
to control his own emotional reaction as Petra said, 

“My beloved girl, you must hang on to life.”

“I’m hurt, Pet.”

“I know. Can you describe?”

“This beam is crushing me. I can barely breathe. I feel like my lungs are full of water, but I can’t 
really cough and if I do, blood comes out of my mouth. I’m so cold, I’m freezing and I just want 
to go to sleep.”

Petra winced, ran a hand clothed in a latex glove across her eyes, leaving behind a smudge. 
“Don’t sleep, darling, you must stay alert to fight it. Cough as much as you can, even if it hurts. 
Breathe as deeply as you can.”

“I love you, Pet. I always have, always will. I have to give the phone back to Boyd before I drift 
off…”

“No, Lis, please don’t drift anywhere!”

“Kiss.”

She reached towards Boyd, who took the phone from her. Their eyes met. He saw fresh blood 
streaking the side of her face, flowing from her mouth and nose. She said, “Never let them win.”

“Lis, stay with me. I need you. Petra needs you. Stay with us.” He spoke to Petra. “What can I 
do?” She read the panic in his voice. Brian watched her strong, gypsy face pull back from the 
pain she was feeling as she said, “Comfort her.” She gave the phone back to Brian as she walked 
over to the perimeter of the area and sat down heavily on the grass, her face in her hands.

“Boyd? How bad is she?”

“I think she’s slipped into a coma, Brian,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “She doesn’t 
seem to hear me now. We have to get her out of here!”

Fireman Richard walked over to Brian and said, “Do you still have him?” Brian nodded. The 
fireman motioned for the phone. Brian handed it over. He said to Boyd, “We’re going to 
approach the wall from the east. We think it’s the west wall arching over you. We want to come 
at it from the opposite direction and fold it back. But we need to be sure there are no victims on 
the free side of the wall or we’ll risk crushing them. We think that’s unlikely as that would’ve 
been an empty room that was used for storage. But we’re sending a dog over the area to sniff it 
out. It won’t take long. We want to mark every spot where they identify a person.”

“We don’t have that kind of time. This place keeps shimmering and groaning and sections of the 
structure fall. It could go any minute. And my sister needs help now!”

“We can’t do it any other way without risking your life, and her life and the lives of many others. 
We have to do it right. Just try to be calm and let us do our work.”

As he handed the phone back to Brian, Brian muffled it and asked, “Dogs?”

“Yes, and we have a concrete specialist on his way to advise us about the safest method of rescue 
from the cave-in of a concrete structure.”

“Why can’t you just dig him out?”

“Because we could end up killing him instead of saving him, if we screw it up.”

Brian looked up as Bellamy rejoined him, trailed by Frank. Daphne was seated beside Petra, 
trying to comfort her. “Did you talk to Jane?”

Bellamy nodded. “The kids don’t know anything. They’re back at the hotel.”

Brian relayed that message to Boyd who said, “If anything happens to me, you have to take care 
of my kids, Brian. You can’t let my parents get them. It’s in my trust documents. You control 
their money. I want you to have custody, too.”

“First of all, shut up, nothing is happening to you. Second of all, who told you to change your 
trust documents?”

“No one. I did it on my own. It’s what I would want to see happen. I know you love them and 
that you’d look out for their interests.”

Brian winced. There was no greater expression of trust and commitment than this entrustment of 
the two people in the world Boyd loved most. Even as it moved him, it terrified Brian, too. 
“Nothing is happening to you,” he repeated. “Nothing, except getting you out of there, and 
Lisette, too.”

Boyd looked over at his sister. She was still comatose. At least he hoped she was so still because 
she had slipped into a coma. A coma was better than death. Her hand was just out of his reach. 
He sighed, wondering why his own legs were so completely without feeling. Were they still 
there? “Maybe you should go to the hotel and wait, Brian.”

“Or maybe drop by and see if the Armory is still open? Have a few shots? Get my dick sucked? 
What is wrong with you?”

Brian Kinney was the only man who could make Boyd smile under these dire circumstances. “I 
guess a house has to fall on me before I understand.”

“I’ll keep the brat in pigtails who’s carrying a little dog away from your shoes.”

Brian looked up as a trainer with a golden lab wearing a harness approached. The trainer spoke 
to the firemen. From a zipped bag, they withdrew flags that could be inserted into the debris, one 
group was white, the other black. Brian knew what they meant without asking. The dog looked a 
little sad to be here, as if he knew his presence made people unhappy. That was contrary to the 
human-dog code of conduct. 

“He’ll bark if he finds a living person,” his trainer was saying. “If he sniffs a deceased victim, 
he’ll bite on the leather strap under his chin. You just have to flag where he indicates.”

Brian met the dog’s grave expression and sighed. It had come to this. A game of flags. He could 
only hope that both Boyd and Lisette drew the white flag, and not the black, by the time this dog 
had done his duty.
Current Mood: scared
 
04:38 am - BURN CHAPTER 87
Hi Burniacs. Here's the latest from Big B. WHEW! I'm exhausted just reading it! 



“We have to hang up, Brian.” Boyd’s announcement stunned his partner. His immediate reaction 
was, 

“No!”

“My battery’s getting low. They may need to communicate with me as they get closer to the 
rescue. I don’t want to hang up, but…”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Brian conceded. The thought of breaking their connection was 
agonizing. “I’ll call you back and give you an update, so leave it on standby.”

“Okay.”

As hard as it was for Brian to hang up, he could only imagine the horror of being alone beneath 
all that rubble, in the dark, in pain. His throat tightened. “I, um, I love you, Boyd.”

“I know. You too. It’s going to be okay.”

“Shouldn’t I be reassuring you?”

“Hang up, Brian.”

“I don’t want to,” he whispered, desperately in need of being connected to Boyd. 

“Please.”

“Yes, alright, I’ll call, but meanwhile you hang tough.”

“I always do.”

Brian pushed end with a trembling finger and then walked over to the one person who might 
understand best what he was feeling. He dropped down beside Petra on the grass and wordlessly 
pulled her into his arms. They held each other in silent need for a long embrace, and then she 
shuddered in his arms and leaned away. “I’m a fool,” she said and he looked confused.

“Take me to your firemen who are in charge of this rescue,” she said. “I must talk to them at 
once about what needs to be done.”

Floodlights lit the area, strung from temporary structures. Brian was reminded of the washed out 
glare of a high school football game, but there were no drums, no cheerleaders, no hopeful 
warriors in pads and helmets. The men in helmets on this scene were protecting themselves from 
a far more dangerous threat. The dog was doing what he was brought there to do. Flags appeared 
in the rubble, far more black than white. At the more shallow mounds, rescue workers were 
digging in with tools to remove the surface debris beneath the white markers. People were finally 
being uncovered. 

“Who’s in charge of medical?” Petra demanded. One of the EMT’s stepped forward. 

“You’re that doctor who was helping earlier,” he recognized her. 

“Yes. How familiar are you with injuries caused by crushing?”

“We’ve had our fair share of crush injuries, mainly automobile accidents or industrial mishaps. 
Not a disaster of this magnitude.”

“You know about crush injury syndrome?”

“I know what it is.”

“I don’t. What is it?” Brian demanded, but Petra glared at him.

“Time is too short, Brian. Let me talk and I’ll fill you in when I can.”

He knew when to shut up, despite his own dread. The fireman in charge of the rescue walked 
over with another man, in a hard hat and civilian clothes. “We’ve asked for volunteers from local 
hospitals, doctor. They’re on their way.”

“You need someone to run triage. This is what I do. But listen to me. You can’t just pull that 
wall off of the victims. Even if the wall remains stable, the chances that you will cause heart or 
renal failure in these people are massively increased if they don’t receive treatment prior to 
removing the crushing structure.” 

“Doctor, we think there’s only one living victim pinned by the wall,” the fireman reassured her. 
“Most of the others were either killed in the blast or are buried in more shallow, accessible areas. 
You can see this is where the wall fell. It’s very precarious.”

There was a field of black flags surrounded by one white, hopeful banner. Brian knew what she 
was thinking. “He said she was pinned under a beam, not the wall,” he tried to reassure her.

“She was within arm’s length of Boyd,” Petra said with a perfectly controlled voice as she waved 
towards the white flag. Not one flag within reach of it was white. Brian winced. 

“It’s a dog, not a doctor.”

“I can’t think of that right now,” she said, as if speaking from an identity that was not her own. 
Some strong alter ego that could compartmentalize her pain. Brian was astounded by her 
strength. “I just can’t. Boyd is in grave danger, and not just from the wall. His legs have been 
crushed long enough that metabolic changes are under way. His muscles can survive maybe four 
hours before cell death starts to occur at the wound site due to lack of circulation. The injuries 
are producing toxins that are blocked by the crushing mechanism at the moment. Once the 
pressure is relieved, they will be released into his bloodstream in a rush. They can cause 
immediate heart failure or lead to renal failure. These toxic substances can leak for days, if he 
lives that long.”

Brian was confused. “Poisoned by your own body?”

“Yes. Naturally occurring substances will wreak havoc if released in quantity outside the cell 
walls. Histamines, free radicals, lactic acid, fat, you must begin to treat him before you remove 
the crushing structure. Those less compromised may survive without such dire actions, but not 
someone who has a large portion of his body and long muscles involved in the injury. Trained 
trauma specialists need to assess each victim, and we must have the appropriate supplies on 
hand. Who do I call to ensure they bring the right equipment and medications?”

Brian watched her consult the rescue team and then she began to instruct someone by using her 
cell phone. He called Boyd. He had to hear his voice. When he answered, Brian sighed. “Sorry, 
just checking in. How are you?”

“I’d rather be in Philadelphia. Pittsburgh, even.”

Brian tried to smile, but he couldn’t. Richard the fireman walked over. “Is that Boyd?” Brian 
nodded. “May I?” Brian handed him the phone. Richard said, “Boyd, Richard with the fire 
department. We think we know where you are. We’re going to try something a little less invasive 
than moving that wall. First, we’re going to drill a small hole and lower a fiber optic camera. It’s 
very thin. We want you to move it around and give us a view of what we’re up against.”

“Won’t that collapse the wall?”

“We have an expert in concrete construction advising us. He is able to pinpoint the thinnest 
portion of the wall, and to predict its stability. He’s done that. It’s safe, don’t you worry.”

Brian wasn’t convinced by Richard’s expression. Boyd said, “Okay, but put Brian back on the 
line.”

He handed the phone back. “Hi, that sounds like a plan, doesn’t it?” Brian tried to be upbeat.

“Tell them to go to Lisette first. She needs their help more than I do. I can wait.”

Brian combed his fingers through his hair, unable to respond to that except to say, “Let them do 
it their way.”

“Okay, but hurry. I’m so thirsty. Can they send me water?”

“How big will that hole be?” Brian asked Richard who said,

“Not big enough for a bottle. But we can lower a tube and run water through it if the docs say 
that’s okay.”

Petra rejoined them. “Yes, it’s okay. We’ll have to flood him with fluids as soon as we can get 
down there, using multiple IV lines. We must pump him up with fluids before we try to extricate 
him.”

“Why?” Brian demanded and she sighed. 

“Don’t ask me to explain each step I must take, Brian, we haven’t the time. He has to maintain a 
high urine output. The life of his kidneys could depend on it and this is the natural way to cleanse 
his body of toxins. What do you have on hand?” She asked the fireman who shrugged.

“The usual, Ringer’s solution…”

“No,” she pulled her loose hair back in a ponytail that she secured with a latex glove she 
removed from her hand and twisted to use as a rubber band. Once again, Brian was amazed by 
her composure. “Nothing containing potassium. Saline solution will do.” She turned to the EMT. 
“I need a Foley’s catheter, also sodium bicarbonate, and insulin and glucose on standby. Possibly 
calcium for dysrhythmias, and a sodium polystyrene sulfonate to bind the potassium in his body. 
Once we establish the flow of urine, I’ll want to start mannitol. I need a portable ecg to monitor 
his heart both before he’s extricated and as the extrication begins and his body circulates the 
toxins. That’s the fastest way to determine the level of hyperkalemia he may be suffering, absent 
the ability to lab test him.”

“You can’t go down there, doctor. You’re not trained.”

“I’m a trained trauma specialist,” she said, glaring at the men. “And I’m much smaller than any 
of you, so it will be easier for me to get there faster.”

“It’s not safe.”

“I have nothing to lose,” she said with such finality that Brian felt sick. She looked at him and 
added, “But he does, and so do some innocent children. Is there a hyperbaric oxygen chamber in 
Atlanta?”

“Yes, at Emory.”

“Have it on standby. We’ll have to evaluate the victims as they are brought out to determine who 
needs it most.”

“We have PASGs, doctor,” the EMT offered, but she declined that offer.

“Never use a pneumatic antishock garment in a crush injury syndrome patient. It could increase 
their harm.”

“What are they doing?” Brian demanded as a high-pitched wail signified a small drill bit being 
carved through a layer of debris and into the wall. A monitor was set up so that when the fiber 
optic camera was lowered, the image could be sent back. “They’re going to cave it in!”

“Calm down, Brian,” Richard said in a firm voice. “We have to know what we’re getting into 
and exactly where we’re headed.”

Petra met some doctors arriving from nearby hospitals and was soon checking their supplies as 
she poured antibacterial solution over her hands and then snapped on latex gloves and put more 
in the pocket of the jumpsuit they gave her that she pulled over her dress. A pair of rubber boots 
took the place of her delicate dress shoes. 

“Get him on the phone,” Richard said, and Brian did so. Boyd sounded concerned.

“A lot of dust is being dislodged, Brian. It’s hard to breathe and I can feel the wall shake.”

Brian sighed. “I’m handing the phone to Richard. Tell him. I’m right here.”

Richard said, “We’re monitoring everything, Boyd, you’re fine.”

“It’s quiet down here. I don’t hear people crying or moaning anymore.”

“Don’t you worry about that right now. We’re pulling people out all over the place, but this one 
is for you. Do you see anything?”

“Yes, I see a little beam of light and a lot of dust.”

“Where is the light?”

“Above me.”

“Estimate how far.”

“Six, feet, eight maybe.”

“That’s the sky, Boyd. That’s your freedom. When the dust clears, you’ll feel the air.”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“Good. Now we’re going to lower the cable. It has a little light on the end. Tell me if it’s in a 
place you can reach.”

Boyd watched the line descend towards him, and then stop. “It’s too high. I can’t reach that far.”

“How far above you would you say it is?”

“Lower it another foot or so.” Boyd reached for it, but couldn’t grasp it. He was frustrated by his 
inability to move or twist. “Swing it,” he told the firemen. “It needs to be closer to me.”

On the screen was a dizzying display of darkness, shadows, nothing Brian could identify as 
Boyd. And then he saw a hand, long, agile, fingers, fingers he knew so well, that had given him 
so much pleasure, that were connected to the man who had become his life. “Oh god,” he said 
quietly. “That’s him. That’s him.”

“I got it!” Boyd said and then turned the camera on his face. Brian watched the screen fill with 
that handsome, dust and blood splattered face, his hair dulled by the cement dust. He gasped as if 
seeing him for the first time. He had never looked more beautiful to him. Petra came over and 
grabbed Brian’s hand, squeezing tightly. 

“We see you, Boyd,” Richard said. “We’re preparing a line to send down with water. It will have 
a clamp on it, just open it and then clamp it again after you drink.”

“Good, thanks.”

“Run the camera down your body so we can see where you’re trapped.”

Brian watched the screen illuminate his tie, a classic navy blue silk with a red regimental stripe. 
It was loose now and his shirt and jacket were torn and dirty. He got as far as his thighs and then 
the camera picked up a thick section of broken cement that covered the rest of his legs 
completely. Petra muttered a curse in Russian and shook her head. 

“Massive lower body involvement.”

Brian looked at her and she squeezed his hand. He wasn’t encouraged by that gesture. Richard 
told Boyd to move the camera along the slab to give them a wider view and then to display what 
was behind him. “Tell Petra to look at Lisette. Tell her I don’t think she’s bleeding anymore, at 
least. She hasn’t moved. I think she’s comatose,” he said and Richard relayed that message as 
Boyd let the camera linger on his sister. Brian propped an arm behind Petra as she brought her 
hands up to her mouth. She stared at Lisette’s still image and then turned to Brian, burying her 
face on the front of his shirt. Richard met Brian’s eyes and sighed.

“Okay, Boyd, we see her. Move the camera behind your head.”

They saw the destruction. They saw bodies. Brian looked away. Richard spoke to Boyd for a 
minute about their plans, told him to keep the camera on the scene and then handed the phone to 
Brian. Brian had to struggle to find his voice. He said, “You look pretty good all covered in dust. 
Very primitive. Makes your eyes look bluer.”

Boyd held the camera up to his face and stuck out his tongue. “Can they send a battery down on 
a string, Brian? You know the model phone I have.”

“Damn, that’s why they pay you the big bucks. I didn’t think of that. Let me see what I can find. 
We’ll hang up for now. Reserve what battery life you have. Did you get that water?”

“Yeah, it’s great. I wish I could reach Lisette with it. I think I need to pee.”

“So pee. Who cares? You’re going to have to have that suit cleaned anyway,” Brian was looking 
for Daphne. She had the same model phone as they did. He knew because he provided it for her. 
“I’ll call again. I love you, still.”

“Quit telling me that. You’re making me nervous.”

Brian smiled and said goodbye. 

Ultimately they did get the battery lowered to him and Richard explained the game plan to Boyd 
while the others listened. “We’ve determined the thinnest part of the wall is about three feet 
behind you, Boyd. We’re going to cut a hole in the cement wide enough to lower Dr. Dubrova. 
While she’s taking care of you, we’ll be widening the gap to put a couple of our people in place. 
We want to reinforce that wall that’s covering you with before we try to do anything cute with 
it.”

“Look, I don’t think Lisette would want to endanger Petra. Can’t you send someone else?”

“She insists, and she is quite small and quite competent.”

“Don’t let Brian come down here. He’s way too volatile and our kids need one parent on the 
other side of the cave in.”

“That won’t happen.”

Everyone was exhausted as the crew worked carefully to cut into the cement block. Petra was 
concerned that Boyd was closing in on the danger of cell death in his trapped limbs and Brian 
was jumping out of his skin. “Is it a bad sign that he isn’t in pain?” He asked her as she went 
through the backpack she would wear down into the darkness. 

“It’s very common, but when the compression is removed, he will be in agony very quickly. 
We’ll treat it.”

Another doctor was standing by to monitor the information Petra would be sending back on 
monitors and sensors applied to the patient, and he said, “Will you want a field amputation kit?”

Brian cut him a glare. “No one is amputating any part of Boyd.”

Petra placed a calming hand on his arm as she said, “Let’s presume that won’t be necessary.”

“Presume?” Brian demanded, but then his phone rang and he heard Boyd’s voice. 

“I’m getting tired of this. How much longer?”

“Any minute now.”

“Have you heard anything about Jared’s mother?”

“Both she and her sister are fine, but they’re admitting them for observation and for shock.”

“That’s a relief. Brian, I’m getting cold. Is it cold out there?”

Petra looked alarmed. “Shock,” she said. “Keep him talking, calm.” She went over to the firemen 
to request they speed things up. Finally she returned and said, 

“I’m on my way down. Tell him when he sees a light at the end of this tunnel, it’s not eternity. 
It’s my miner’s hat with the light on it.”

Brian smiled and wished her luck, pausing to kiss her cheek as he saw them drop a rope ladder 
down the hole they had made in the cement wall. How brave she was, not only to minister to his 
partner in these dangerous circumstances, but to do so beside the still, silent presence of the love 
of her life. He made his plea to go down after her, to hold Boyd’s hand, but they flatly refused 
and he realized this was one he wouldn’t win.

“Petra, don’t let him die.”

“They teach us to oppose death as a possible outcome, my dear,” she said, and with that, she 
began her descent.
Current Mood: anxious
 
05:04 pm - BURN Chapter 88
(Thanks for the icons, Heather)

********



Homer Dhue sat stiff-backed on the red raw silk divan in the drawing room of the plantation 
manor house, waiting. His wife placed a hand on his bony knee. “Relax. You’re going to scare 
those poor women to death.”

“How should I look? Happy?”

“Normal.”

“This is normal,” he said with a scowl. “I don’t know what to tell them.”

“You tell them the truth, Homer.”

“But what is the truth? What Bellamy saw or what Bellamy says is going on right now?”

“The truth is only what is happening right now to those poor children. What Bellamy says he 
‘sees’ is neither here nor there. It’s dark magic.”

Homer glared at his beloved wife. “Woman, don’t go calling the gift my family has been given 
‘dark magic’ again. Ain’t nothin’ dark about it. No one prays to the devil to get this ability. We 
just get born with it, some of us, and those who do, don’t necessarily consider it a good thing.”

“Wherever it comes from, it ain’t what is happenin’ now, and you don’t go tellin’ this mother 
what may prove out to be nonsense. It’s not like Pearl or her kin are always right.”

“I suppose.”

“If Bellamy Beaufort was so all-knowing, why did he let them go in the first place?”

“Because it don’t work that way, Madam. You don’t get a warning sign with red flashing lights 
so you know exactly what to do or not do.”

“Then it has no value whatsoever, now does it?”

Before he could answer, Boyd’s mother walked into the room accompanied by Luann. They both 
sat on the couch across from the couple as Homer grew even more tense.

“What brings you here at this hour, Homer? Madam?” The lady of the manor inquired.

“Mrs. Coulter, I got a call from my cousin Pearl’s boy, Bellamy. There’s been some trouble in 
Atlanta.”

He thought he saw a reaction in Luann’s blue eyes, but she said nothing. Her mother spoke. “I 
see. Well, go take care of your family’s business, if you must, but please be back by Wednesday. 
Mr. Coulter has his doctor’s appointment that day. I’ll need your help getting him to town.”

“No, m’am, it’s not like that. It’s not exactly my family’s trouble, but there’s been an accident at 
a museum in Atlanta.”

His employer blinked, obviously confused about why she should be interested. “How does this 
involve you?”

“Because Mr. Boyd and Miss Lisette were in town for an exhibition at that museum.”

“You know, Mother,” Luann added with a cool smile. “That black boy Boyd used to be with 
before he decided he wasn’t queer, and then he went back to being queer, again, with this new 
one. Anyway, the first one was an artist and Boyd donated his work to some museum in 
Atlanta.”

“It’s tasteless to discuss your brother’s personal life in front of others, Luann,” her mother 
scolded. The Dhues shared a glance, silently wondering about her priorities. 

“It’s not like everyone doesn’t know about it now, Mother. Boyd’s become some kind of 
homosexual crusader.”

Her mother looked back at Homer. “What are you telling me? Are my children in danger? Where 
are Boyd’s children?”

“The little ones weren’t at the museum, so they’re fine. Mr. Boyd and Ms. Lisette are trapped in 
the rubble, I’m sorry to say. They’re working on getting them out, but it’s a serious situation.”

“How serious?” Luann demanded. Homer’s shoulders rose and fell.

“I’m going there now to find out, to see if I can help in some way. I’m going to drive. As you 
know, Madam don’t trust airplanes. I didn’t know if you wanted us to arrange a trip for you. Or 
if you wanted to wait here?”

“I can’t leave my husband and of course he can’t travel.”

Homer moved his gaze to Luann who didn’t bother to return it. “I should stay here with Mother, 
just in case,” she said.

“Well then,” Homer stood and offered his hand to his wife. “We’ll be going. It’s a long drive.”

“You’ll call, won’t you, Homer? Let us know.” Boyd’s mother asked, as if concerned about the 
well-being of a favorite houseplant. He nodded. As he walked to the car with his wife, he said,

“What the hell?”

She sighed and slipped into the shotgun seat, settling in for a long night. She made sure the 
mobile phone was plugged into the cigarette adaptor in case they got a call. “I don’t know what 
to say. White people are different, especially rich white people.”

Homer frowned as he put the car in drive and headed down the long, private drive. “It ain’t about 
color, Madam.”

“I’m just saying they’re different, is all. They don’t react the same way we expect.”

“They’re human beings, aren’t they? I just told that woman two of her own children are in grave 
circumstances and she hardly blinked an eye. Can’t even be bothered to go, not either one of 
them. I can see the wife has to stay with the husband, who can’t travel, but why wouldn’t she 
send Miss Luann?”

“I’m just as glad she didn’t. That girl gives me the heebie jeebies. Always has.”

“Are you going back to that damned cat poisoning thing again? The girl was eight years old!”

“Yes, she was eight years old, Homer. And what eight year old child poisons a cat because it 
scratched her?”

Homer shook his head, unwilling to re-plow that field. “We need to be thinkin’ of Boyd and 
Lisette now, Madam. No one else.”

“I’m prayin’ for those poor children,” she dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief she 
kept ready. Homer sighed and reached over to pat her arm, sharing in those prayers, but feeling a 
sense of hopelessness over whether they would be answered.

****

Boyd could hear all the activity behind him, and he was working hard to keep his terror at bay as 
he pictured the cutting and removal of cement causing the wall to collapse above him. He 
couldn’t twist to watch, but he heard them and Brian kept him informed on the phone. The next 
thing he knew, a light from behind illuminated the ghostly scene and Petra approached, slowly, 
picking her path carefully amid the carnage and the shifting rubble. 

She had to walk doubled over to reach Boyd and she dropped to her knees beside him, shrugging 
out of her backpack. Seeing her familiar face filled him with relief. She smoothed a gloved hand 
through his hair. He said, “See to Lis first.”

She glanced over her shoulder at her lover. He wondered why she hesitated, but then she crawled 
over to Lisette. He watched her feel for a pulse in her wrist and neck, apply a stethoscope to her 
chest, and lift Lisette’s eyelid to shine a penlight into her pupils. She then sat back on her heels 
as she combed through her hair with her fingers and leaned over to place a kiss on her bloody 
cheek. Finally, she squeezed her hand and Boyd saw Petra’s narrow shoulders quake under a 
shudder. As soon as she turned around, he knew. He shook his head.

“No.”

She came over to him, her face a mask of forced calm. She grabbed his hand and said, “You 
must think only of getting out of here, Boyd. We can do nothing for Lis, but you we can save.” 
She took the phone from him. “Brian, I’m hanging up for now. I need Boyd’s attention.”

“But…”

She didn’t let him finish that thought before she ended the call and placed the phone in her 
pocket. Boyd felt such a profound sadness that nothing else seemed to matter and Petra turned 
his face towards her as she said, “You think you’re not badly hurt because there’s very little pain. 
But that’s a phantom, Boyd. You are seriously wounded, your very life is in danger, and I need 
you to stay with me and keep me informed of your physical reactions. Do you understand? If I 
can keep going under these circumstances, so can you.”

He nodded, biting his lip for composure. She cut through the right sleeve of his jacket and shirt 
to lay his arm bare. She then swabbed the exposed area with antibacterial cleanser after snapping 
on a second set of latex gloves. He stared at the cold, orange colored liquid she applied to his 
skin as she said, “I’m starting two IV’s. Both contain saline solution to regulate your fluids. This 
will hurt a little,” he flinched as she inserted two stents into the veins on the back of his hand and 
at the bend of his arm and then secured them with tape. She discarded his tie, opened his shirt, 
and applied sensors to his chest. 

She carried a walkie-talkie the firefighters had given her and she asked them to tell her if the 
ECG was working, and for the doctor above them to give her a reading. They responded, having 
to repeat it to be heard above the sound of the work being done in the wall behind them. She 
seemed content with the reading, but she knew the true test would be upon extrication. If Boyd 
was going to flood his body with his own toxins and stop his heart, extrication was when that 
was most likely to happen.

“I’m cold,” he said. She nodded.

“Shock.”

“Blood loss?”

“Doubtful. Your enemy is your friend, here, Boyd. The compression will act as tourniquet to 
stem any massive blood loss. These fluids I’m giving you will help restore balance and battle the 
shock. I’m cutting your trousers down both legs. I’m going to insert a Foley catheter into your 
penis to drain urine into a bag. I want to be able to monitor your output and we’ll test content 
when we can to see what your kidneys are up against. It will be a little uncomfortable going in.”

“But…” the idea of his sister’s…God, his sister….of her partner fumbling with his penis was 
humiliating. She met his eyes and said, 

“There’s no time for modesty, Boyd. This has no meaning for me. I’m a doctor, this is what I do. 
You’ll soon be flooded with fluids and your body will be eliminating them with speed, if all goes 
well. You’ll be glad for the catheter.”

He didn’t protest and when he was hooked up, she covered his body in a warming blanket that 
helped him with his preternatural chill. She continued to work, adding substances to the IV lines. 
When two rescue workers joined them, she said, “He’s stable. I need to be told when the weight 
is going to be lifted, because that is the flash point for him. I need to be ready. I’ll give him 
morphine when the pain arrives. Boyd, are you allergic to any drugs? Sulphate? Morphine?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“Antihistimines?”

“No. What are you guys going to do to get me out?” he asked as they studied the angle of the 
wall, and moved the camera to broadcast the scene to the cement expert topside. They 
communicated with walkie-talkies and one said to him,

“Just relax, sir, we’ll have you out of here in no time.”

“Please let me talk to Brian,” he pleaded to Petra who pressed the phone into his hand. There was 
nothing more she could do at the moment but wait and monitor and treat his symptoms.

“Do you always have to be the center of attention?” Brian said as soon as the phone call went 
through. Boyd couldn’t speak for a moment. “Boyd?”

“Lisette is gone,” he finally managed to say as tears streaked his cheeks for the first time since 
disaster struck. 

“Fuck,” Brian responded. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Oh shit, Brian.” He closed his eyes, not wanting to fall apart in the face of Petra’s incredible 
bravery. 

“I’m so sorry. I loved her.”

“I know. Me too. I can’t imagine my life…” he stopped as he thought of Petra, who seemed to be 
blocking this whole conversation.

“God damn it.”

“Brian, it doesn’t look so good for me, either.”

“Shut up. That’s not true. That’s not what these guys say.”

“I’m in shock. All kinds of things can happen when they lift that wall. Bad things happen to 
people, Brian. Look at Lis. She didn’t deserve this.”

“No, she didn’t, and neither do you. You have to fight for it, Boyd. You have to try. They are 
doing everything they can to save you and you have to cooperate in that effort. If not for 
yourself, or for me, you have two kids who need you.”

“I know, I know.”

“The only thing that’s going to happen when they lift that wall is that you’re going to be free.”

“I’m scared.”

“Me too,” Brian whispered. “They won’t let me come down there. I’ve tried.”

“Please don’t. I don’t need to worry about you, too.”

Petra took the phone from him. “Brian, not now. He just can’t deal with anything more. I’m 
hanging up again.”

“Petra, wait…”

“We’ll see you in the open air,” she hung up as Boyd pressed his uninvolved arm over his face. 
“You have to be strong, Boyd,” she soothed him. “Time for grieving later. Right now, time for 
rescue.”

“We’re going to put a hard hat and goggles on him, doctor, if that’s okay,” one of the rescuers 
said. “When we cut this wall, some cement chips might fly.”

“He has no head injury, that’s fine. Protect him as much as you can. What is your plan?”

“We’re going to insert a metal wedge under the angle of the wall as deep as we can get it, to 
provide additional support. The only way out is to cut through the cement, and remove it a block 
at a time.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Too dangerous. You decompress one limb and not the other, the 
toxins begin to circulate and we still can’t get him acute care. The shock and the toxins could kill 
him before you cut the second leg free. You must make a cut wide enough to free both legs at 
once.”

“The bigger the section we take out, the more likely we are to unbalance the wall.”

“It matters not if your rescue plans end up killing the patient, correct? Talk to your cement man. 
Come up with something and do it now. He’s on the verge of cell death in those limbs. We have 
to get him out. And have a stretcher ready to move him and an ambulance on standby and parked 
as close by as possible.”

They began conferring with the others above them as Boyd took Petra’s hand. “No matter what 
happens, thank you for risking everything and for putting aside your own feelings of horror and 
loss to help me.”

“What more would Lis want, my darling brother? What more could I do for her than this?” She 
pressed her lips to his forehead and he kept hold of her hand as their rescue plan was amended.
Current Mood: stressed
 
08:02 am - BURN Chapter 89
Burniacs, posted for Big B who is on his way to pick up the kid from camp. Better take a Xanax 
and a whiskey shooter before you read this one. ACK! Ran

******



Daphne, Bellamy and Frank waited nearby, but not so close as to crowd Brian. They were there 
if he needed them, or to run interference, if the press or anyone else tried to approach him. But 
they knew he was hanging from a thin wire and they didn’t want to add to his burden. When Ted 
came up, Frank embraced him and touched the bandage on his forehead.

“What did they do to you?”

“Ten stitches. I’m hoping for a dashing scar.”

“How’s Lindsay?” Daphne asked.

“She’s going to be fine. Her arm’s been set. I dropped her off at the hotel before I came here. No 
news? Brian looks a wreck.”

“Petra’s down there with Boyd, so that’s good,” Bellamy said. “They have rescue workers down 
there now, too. It’s just a matter of time, we hope.”

Brian walked over to them, giving Ted a glance as he asked, “Lindsay?”

“Fine. At the hotel.”

“Good.” He looked at each of them and then said, “Lisette didn’t make it.”
Daphne gasped and began to cry as the men expressed sadness, each in his own way. Brian met 
Bellamy’s gaze. “You knew,” he accused.

Bellamy shrugged. “I hoped I was wrong.”

“What a nasty little gift you have,” Brian sneered, and then ran a hand over his face, smudging 
the dust that had gathered there. “I’m sorry. That’s not fair. Boyd? You see something bad for 
Boyd?”

Bellamy shook his head. “Have faith, Brian.”

“I need you to tell me right now if you see something bad for Boyd!”

“Brian,” Ted took his arm, but Brian pulled free and walked away from them, throwing his arms 
up in frustration. Ted followed. He placed a hand on Brian’s shoulder and felt him shudder. 
“What can I do for you?”

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Besides that.”

Brian turned to him. Ted had never seen the handsome Kinney face reveal so much raw, 
unmasked pain. He wanted to hug him, but he knew Brian wasn’t the hugging type. He wanted to 
verbally reassure him but he knew his words would sound hollow. Like everyone else, except 
perhaps Bellamy, he had no idea how this would play out. He also had no idea how Brian could 
ever recover from the loss of Boyd Coulter. 

“Remember that house party in the Hamptons?” he asked.

Brian’s expression became confused. “Huh?”

“Ages and ages ago. There was an orgy. I hardly knew you then. You came in from the deck 
wearing that little black Speedo and it was instant schwing for every man at the party. I thought 
to myself, no wonder he’s the king stud of Pittsburgh. I can only imagine what it’s like to fuck 
him.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“We both got involved in that orgy, remember? Bodies everywhere, dicks in your face every 
time you moved, a twist of limbs and asses and fucking and sucking and every thing in between. 
At one point, I turned over and rested my hand on a big, hard cock. As I closed my fist around it, 
I felt it jump. I looked over and it was yours. Our eyes met. I wanted you so bad, but we 
communicated in that instant and I knew it wasn’t going to happen. First, I wasn’t in your league. 
And second, we were kind of becoming friends in Pittsburgh and I knew if I got you off, you’d 
never want to see me again. As a friend or anything else. It wasn’t like I was going to succeed in 
having you as a boyfriend, so it boiled down to whether I want to get you off, just once, just to 
see it happen, or do I want to be your friend? Get the benefit of your cast offs and kind of get to 
know what makes you tick? I decided on the latter. I let go of your cock. You rolled over and fed 
it to some blond, beautiful boy. That was that.”

Brian stared at him and then said, “I don’t remember the moment, Theodore. I get my orgies 
mixed up in memory. Why this trip down that historical trail?”

“Because I’m glad I made that decision, Brian. As much as I’d like to know what it’s like to fuck 
you, being your friend has meant so much more to me. You’re a good man under all that 
superficial bullshit. You’ve been there for me. I know that. And now I want to be here for you.”

He watched Brian’s limpid eyes fill with tears, and then he pulled Ted into a suffocating embrace 
as he whispered against his ear, “I’m so fucking scared!”

“I know,” Ted closed his eyes. His hands traveled up and down Brian’s back in a soothing 
motion. “I know.”

They stood in that embrace for a long, silent moment and then finally Brian stepped back, 
rubbing his sleeve across his face as he reached deep inside his soul to find calm. “I have to be 
strong for Boyd.”

Ted reached up and brushed some tear-streaked dust from Brian’s cheek. “I know you do, but 
you don’t have to be strong for me. I’m here if I can help.”

Brian nodded, exhaling a ragged sigh. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you made that decision, 
too, Ted. I need a friend a lot more than I need a former trick.”

Ted smiled. “Glad to fill the role.”

Brian gave him a sad little wave and then returned to the command post to see where they were 
on the rescue. 

*****

Boyd was exhausted. Physically and emotionally spent, he felt the crush of fatigue as strongly as 
he felt the crush of cement. His fear had fled in the heartsick realization that without Lisette, his 
life had changed forever. She was his rock, she had his back, and now she was gone. Gone. It 
didn’t seem possible. 

“Are you asleep?” Brian’s voice called him back from the precipice. The words had a double 
meaning for them. Boyd managed a little smile.

“I want this to be over.”

“I know, me too. We’re paying for that expensive suite over at the Four Seasons and we aren’t 
even using it.”

“That does seem a waste.”

“I’m beginning to wonder why they bothered to rebuild this place after Sherman marched 
through.”

“I can hear them on the walkie-talkie with Petra. I guess they’re getting ready to pry me out of 
here. Better hang up.”

“Boyd, I’ll see you on the other side.”

Boyd smiled. Another double meaning. He knew what Brian meant. Nothing, not even eternity, 
could keep them apart. “I’ll be waiting.”

Brian ended the call and felt his tightly wired coping mechanisms begin to unravel, all at once. 
He couldn’t fall apart now. This was a key time when everyone needed to be at maximum 
strength. He looked at his cluster of friends, and locked onto Ted. He motioned him over and Ted 
ran to his side. Brian held out his hand and Ted took it. Brian squeezed his hand with such power 
that it was painful, but Ted didn’t flinch. They were only allowed so close to the opening, from 
where the people down below would emerge. With the wall being moved, they were ordered 
back even farther. 

“This is it,” Brian said through tightly clenched teeth. Ted covered their clasped hands with his 
free hand, stroking Brian’s knuckles gently.

“He’s going to get out of there, Brian. In just a few minutes you’ll see him again.”

Brian wouldn’t look at him, couldn’t look at him, couldn’t move. 

In the dark, envelope of terror where the rescue workers, the trapped victim, and the medical 
team co-habited alongside the dead, the air was thick with dust that was being disturbed by the 
work on the wall. The living all work masks to filter that dust and Boyd’s voice was muffled by 
it as he looked over at Petra. “Will they just yank me out?”

“No. We don’t want to move your limbs. If you have fractures, the bone could pierce the skin. 
We’ll assess your damage and splint your legs and then carefully transfer you over to this 
stretcher. I’ll manage your pain, don’t you worry. You’re doing well, Boyd. Stay strong.”

“Who will manage your pain, Petra?”

She pushed the hair from his forehead and her eyes behind goggles reflected her momentary 
anguish as she answered, “We’ll get through this together.”

“I don’t like the looks of that wall,” the cement expert above the rubble said into the walkie-
talkie. “The structural integrity is destabilized by the work you’re doing. Some of the weaker 
joints in the rear have buckled. I think you guys are running out of time. If the wedge doesn’t 
hold, it’s coming down.”

“We’re almost there,” one of the men carving into the structure said. "It’s cut, hooked and ready 
to winch.” The cut section of the wall was to be raised by a generator-operated winching 
mechanism that would peel it back off of Boyd like opening a clam. 

“You’re going to have a collapse. The minute you move that cut section out of the wall, it’s 
going to start folding in on itself. The integrity is shot. You have one chance to get out of there. 
What I’m worried about is whether it could cause a domino effect where the walls that are 
holding steady give way, bringing the whole structure down in a matter of minutes. Then you’re 
all in trouble.”

“Will we have time to splint his legs before we move him?” Petra asked.

“Pull him clear of that wall the very instant they start the lift. You’ll be lucky to get him out at all 
before it falls. You’ll have to handle the aftermath above ground.”

Boyd saw the worry in her expression as she took a vial of morphine from her bag and prepared 
to inject it into his IV line. Two rescue workers moved behind him, raising his torso to rest 
against them as she injected the drug and said, “Try to avoid dislodging his IV lines.”

“Doc, you go upside and we’ll see you there,” one of them instructed her, but her expression was 
non-negotiable.

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Please Petra, go,” Boyd said as a strange, soothing calm began to flow into his veins to numb 
his horror and fear. In fact nothing much mattered at all, at that moment. He seemed to be out of 
his own body, hovering nearby in a cool and painless place. 

“We’re going to pull him straight back, the minute they lift,” one of the firefighters said to the 
other. “Drop him on that stretcher, tie him in and take him up. No time for any first aid.”

“I’ll go first, you bring up the back, and doc, you follow. Don’t take the time to pick up anything 
around here, leave the equipment, everything. Just go.”

“What about Lisette?” Boyd asked in a languid voice, not wanting to leave his sister behind. 

“Lisette has long ago left this terrible place, Boyd,” Petra reassured him. He nodded, appeased 
by that fact. The generator kicked in as one of the men started the power. It was unreasonably 
loud in the echoes of this cavern. The heavy wall groaned like a living thing as a hunk of its body 
was being wrenched from the corpus. Boyd felt a shift below his thighs, a lessening of pressure, 
and then an angry, ravenous beast began to devour him from the feet up. He screamed as Petra 
hit him with a second dose of morphine to send him into utter blackness. 

“What the fuck is that?” Brian demanded when the chug of the generator began to echo. He let 
go of Ted’s hand, but grasped his arm instead. “What are they doing?”

“They’re lifting the wall,” Richard the firefighter said over his shoulder, watching the action on 
the screen. Brian released Ted and pushed past the men who tried to stop him so he could watch. 
What he saw was not reassuring. The clear picture from before was now a haze of dust so thick 
that he couldn’t even focus on Boyd. 

“Oh shit,” he heard someone on the walkie-talkie say, and another voice, Petra’s voice, 
demanded, “Get him out of here!”

And that’s when everything went to hell. The bowels beneath them heaved and bellowed as the 
wall began to crumble inward, from the back forward. The roped off surface above ground sank 
several feet as the wall forming this temporary mound gave way. Sections fell like dominos, 
coming ever closer to the small opening that would provide their escape. 

“No, no,” Brian muttered, running towards the opening, as if he could reach in and pull Boyd out 
before it was too late. “No!”

The people in charge grabbed him, but he twisted and fought with a strength he didn’t know he 
had left. Finally, someone stuck something in his arm and his strength fled in an instant. He 
didn’t even have the residual power to stand, sinking to his hands and knees on the grass. He was 
helped to a sitting position by Ted. Brian grasped Ted’s leg for support as he gasped for air and 
watched a plume of dust float up from the opening, like a smoke signal of death. 

The collapse of the earth stopped short of the opening, but even in his shocked and addled state, 
Brian knew that the chances that they were all crushed before they made it to that pocket of 
resistance was almost certain. An eerie and sudden silence enveloped the surreal scene.

“Give me some god damn help!” A voice from the lower reaches of the opening cut through the 
momentary quiet. They rushed over and a ghost of a firefighter, so covered in pale cement dust 
that he didn’t look human, poked his head out of the hole and was immediately surrounded by 
others. 

“Don’t go down there,” Brian heard the cement expert say. “It’s not over yet. Pull him out and 
step back.”

But they did go down, two of them, and they did help their comrade lift the stretcher out of the 
hole and Brian saw his lover, motionless and limp, bound to that stretcher. He was also covered 
in the ghostly powder, except for the bottom portion of his body, where the blanket covering him 
was soaked in blood. 

“Help me,” he said to Ted, unable to find the strength to stand. Ted helped him up and put an 
arm behind him as Brian walked towards the stretcher on wobbly legs. Medical personnel, who 
were stabilizing him as he was being transported to the waiting ambulance, surrounded Boyd. 
“Let me through!” Brian insisted, trying to elbow his way past the caretakers. “Let me see him!”

“Sir…” one of them threatened, but Ted said,

“He’s his partner. Give him a break.”

Brian took that moment to reach the side of the stretcher. He forced himself not to look below 
the belt line, at the mess that was Boyd. Instead, he focused on his face. He leaned over to kiss 
his dusty cheek, tasting salt, tasting grit, tasting life. “I love you,” he whispered. The medical 
people had removed the goggles Boyd had been wearing, along with the hard hat. The goggles 
kept his eyes free of the last layer of dust and they fluttered open briefly. He stared at Brian until 
his lover’s face came into focus and he managed one word before he lost consciousness, 

“Petra.”

Brian stood up, watching them shove him into the ambulance. They prohibited him from riding 
with them. Petra. As the ambulance drove off the property and into traffic, siren wailing, Brian 
turned to Ted.

“Get me a ride.”

Ted nodded. “Stay right here.”

The scene was chaotic. The rescue team was being ordered back from the opening on the surface. 
A group was gathered around dusty, bleeding people who had been below. Not as many as were 
sent in had made it back out. The sedative they gave him was being neutralized by adrenaline as 
he trotted towards the tight cluster of people. 

Before he reached them, he was knocked back as the earth moved under him, rolling like a 
powerful earthquake tremor. Not four feet in front of him, the surface collapsed into a cement 
lined crater. A cement lined tomb. 

“Petra!” he cried out, but above the sound of crashing architecture, no one could hear his plea.
Current Mood: scared
 
07:55 am - BURN, Chapter 90


The ride to the hospital seemed interminable. The cab driver knew not to ask them about the 
horror once he got a glimpse of Brian’s face. Ted went with him, but Brian had withdrawn on 
every level by now. He just stared out the window nearest him as Atlanta sped past, mostly from 
the highway. He saw nothing. The light sedation he had been given was all but gone. The mobile 
phone that was his lifeline to Boyd was finally out of gas. It didn’t really matter. There was no 
one on the other end, anyway. He told Ted to find a charger for him, just in case. 

Ted said he would, not bothering to note the hour or the circumstances. He gave him his own cell 
phone to use in the interim. Brian slid it into his pocket without saying a word. He resented the 
fact they wouldn’t let him ride in with Boyd. He saw all the medics who were riding with him, 
and he knew they came first, but still. A couple of them were still covered in dust, having 
emerged from the hole, he supposed. Was that safe? Exposing him to all that dirt? Then he 
remembered how dirty Boyd was. How still. How bloody. He shuddered, and pulled away when 
Ted reached for his hand.

The hospital was a huge, multi-building complex on the fringe of Decatur. Like all big city 
hospitals, it was confusing to navigate, especially when people were in shock and physical or 
psychic pain. There was more activity there than usual that night, with the press chewing on 
tidbits like hungry hyenas and victims from the disaster at the museum being admitted or treated 
and released. 

The woman at the desk took a look at Brian’s bloody, dusty face and directed them to the ER. 
Once there, the intake person gave him a long, evaluating gaze and decided he wasn’t in grave 
condition. “Take a number, fill out this paperwork and have a seat. We’ll get to you as soon as 
we can.”

He slid the clipboard back at her. “I’m not here for treatment. They brought my partner here in 
an ambulance. I need to know where he is, how he is.”

She looked up and blinked. “Your partner?”

“That’s right. Boyd Coulter.”

“How long ago was he brought in?”

“Just a matter of minutes before we arrived.”

She sighed. “Do you have any idea how many people from the museum have arrived in 
ambulances? Most of them unidentified?”

“No, nor do I care. I only care about Boyd Coulter.”

“Well we are obligated to care about every patient, sir. I understand your concern, but you’ll 
have to take a seat until we have time to sort through our admissions.”

“Lady, don’t make this any uglier than it already is.”

Ted put a calming hand on Brian’s arm but he shook free. Ted sensed Brian was beyond being 
managed by him, or by anyone, he supposed. This was bound to get worse, but then the one 
voice Brian might listen to interrupted.

“Step back, Brian.”

He turned. Petra’s ghost stood there, or so it appeared. A grey specter of herself, she was covered 
in a veil of cement dust splattered with blood. Her ponytail had been twisted up under her hard 
hat so that her hair was still dark and glossy. Like Boyd, she had a raccoon’s mask of clear skin 
where the goggles had covered her eyes. Stunned, Brian pulled her small frame into his arms, 
and she groaned as she placed her hands on his chest and pushed back a little. 

“Not so tight. I think I have a bruised a rib or two. Or seven.”

“We thought….we didn’t see…”

“I almost didn’t get out, and I almost didn’t want to get out. But those brave rescuers wouldn’t 
let me have the time to consider the choice of life or eternity with Lisette. They propelled me 
forward. One of the men carrying Boyd fell, so I tried to lift the back of the stretcher, but it was 
too heavy for me to get it up the ladder. It came back on me and hit my chest, knocking me to the 
bottom of the ladder. Then they started pulling the stretcher from above and someone forced me 
to my feet and up the ladder, pushing me from behind.”

“I didn’t see you,” he said, thinking back to the clot of dust covered rescue workers who were 
rendered anonymous by their similar clothes and the ashen cloud. Her jumpsuit and boots gave 
her the illusion of bulk. “I called out for you.”

“It was a chaotic scene, Brian. The man who pushed me up the ladder suffered a heavy blow 
from falling cement and as the others worked on Boyd, I took the time to stabilize my rescuer’s 
neck and head to protect him from possible paralysis when they transported him. It’s a triage 
scene, so we all worked together. At the very last minute I jumped into the ambulance with 
Boyd. I wanted to be able to brief the doctors here about what care he’s been given. I did wave at 
you, but I don’t think you were seeing anyone but Boyd.”

Brian’s relief over Petra’s survival was short lived. He had one person on his mind, one 
compulsion. “I want to see Boyd.”

She took his hand and led him over to a chair, making him sit. “Boyd is on his way to the 
operating room, Brian. You can’t see him. I’m going to go scrub up in the doctor’s lounge and 
then observe his surgery. The doctors here have been very accommodating to me. I had to be 
sure they knew every step I took with him, every drug I administered.”

“Why can’t I see him before he goes in?”

“Because he’s being prepped. Time is of the essence in these cases, Brian. Let them do their 
work. He’s out of it anyway.”

“How bad is it?”

She squeezed his hand gently. “It’s bad. It’s life threatening. It’s likely he could lose a limb to 
save his life. But let’s not concentrate on the negative. He’s alive, he’s strong, he’s fit, and he’s 
young. If anyone could survive this catastrophic injury, he’s the perfect candidate. His heart 
didn’t stop, his kidneys appear to be functioning, two huge risks of crush injury syndrome are 
thus mitigated. For now. He has multiple fractures that require surgical intervention. In these 
cases, the biggest risks of fatality are acute renal failure or sepsis. The fact that his limbs were 
compressed for so long causes metabolic changes in his muscles that make it very difficult for 
the body to fight infection and heal. I think our pre-extrication fluid management may prevent 
renal failure, but the threat of sepsis remains. Better that they not have to cut at all, but in his 
case to do that would mean he could never walk again, given the state of his fractures, so it’s a 
risk worth taking. The hope is that the surgeon can knit his bones together and repair his vascular 
system to the limbs so blood will circulate normally. Failing that, amputation would be the last 
choice.”

Brian wouldn’t allow himself to think of Boyd losing a limb, let alone his life. “Don’t let them 
carve him up, Petra. Don’t take his life away in pieces.”

She squeezed his hand. “Stay strong, darling. He needs that from you now. His life is our main 
focus. Keeping him alive. We’ll do only what is necessary to preserve that state. Come with me. 
You too, Theodore.”

They rode up to the fifth floor. Petra produced a card key she had been issued to open the door to 
the doctor’s lounge. “The surgical waiting room is at the end of the hall, Ted. Wait for us there,” 
she said and he obeyed. Inside the doctor’s lounge were a small sofa, two chairs, a television, a 
fridge, a microwave and a coffeemaker. Another room contained two twin beds. The third room 
was a locker room with a bench, a row of lockers with padlocks and three curtained showers 
facing three curtained dressing rooms. She sifted through the folded scrubs to find a uniform to 
fit him and another to fit herself. 

She handed him his scrubs and a towel and said, “Wash up.”

She went into a dressing room while Brian stood there, still too stunned to function. He finally 
walked over to the mirror above the sink, but had no idea who he was seeing in the reflection. 
Grey hair, dried blood all over the face, which was otherwise streaked with tears and grime. 
Wearing a towel, Petra stepped out of the dressing room and into a shower. Brian began to 
undress, moving as if he were in a trance. Buttons opened, zippers went down, and his clothes 
fell. He stepped naked into the stream of a neighboring shower and let the water revive him. 

He watched the suds and grit go down the drain as he toweled off and then wrapped the towel at 
his waist. As he stepped out, he saw that Petra was already dressed in scrubs, her wet hair pulled 
back in a tight braid. She motioned for him to sit on the bench so she could examine the cut on 
his forehead. “You should have had this sewn up. Too late now, you can’t sew in the threat of 
infection. Put on your clothes and then come with me.”

“Petra, how are you…where do you find the strength to…?”

She watched him step into the clean cotton scrub pants and pull the drawstring tight. Modesty 
was not a trait suffered by Brian Kinney. The strange intimacy of this cleansing ritual seemed to 
bind them. “Because I have to think of the living right now,” she answered him. "I have to think 
of Boyd. The rest of my life will be for grieving.”

He winced and pulled on the baggy shirt, stepping into his dusty dress shoes as he picked up his 
suit and followed her out of the room. He rejoined Ted. Petra announced, “I’ll come out and give 
you periodic updates as often as possible. I know they hope to get him into the hyperbaric 
chamber as soon as practicable, the earlier the better.”

“The what?”

“It’s an oxygen-rich sealed environment, Brian. Perhaps you know it as a decompression 
chamber like the one divers use when they get the bends. It’s been found to be an important step 
in restoring tissue oxygen tensions to levels that will allow the body’s healing mechanisms to 
work when you have traumatic ischemia. It’s painless and we’re lucky to be at a hospital that has 
HBO treatment available. It could well save a limb that would otherwise be lost to necrosis.” She 
took in his blank expression and sighed. “I’ll explain it to you later. I want to get into the OR 
now. You’ll stay with him, won’t you, Ted?”

Ted nodded and Brian stopped her, holding both of her arms in his hands as he kissed the top of 
her head. “Thank you, Petra. Thank you.”

“Nonsense, darling,” she freed herself and placed her fingers alongside his cheekbone. “He may 
be your husband, but he’s my little brother. Do me one favor?”

“Anything.”

She took a pen from the table and wrote a phone number on the back of a People magazine. “Call 
this number. Ask for Oleg. Say that Petra needs him to come to this hospital at once. Can you do 
that?”

“Of course. But…who…”

“We’ll take care of it,” Ted assured her. She nodded. Brian watched her walk away and then sat 
down heavily beside Ted. The television was on, with no sound. CNN was showing the High 
Museum on the screen. Ted switched it off. “Would you like a Coke?” Ted asked. “I saw a 
machine down the hall. Some coffee?”

“Bottle of water,” Brian answered, reaching for his wallet in the pocket of his suit trousers. Ted 
waved him off.

“I’ve got it. Be right back.”

When he was alone, Brian fished out Ted’s mobile and dialed a number. She answered instantly. 
“Teddy?”

“It’s Brian.”

“Omigod, Brian, I’ve been so worried about you!” She sounded like she was crying. Brian 
sighed.

“I’m alright. Are you?”

“I broke my arm, but it was a clean break, no surgery necessary. Where are you?”

“At the hospital. Are the kids okay?”

“Yes. They don’t know. They think there was an accident. We told them everyone is alright, 
though. It’s true, isn’t it? Is everyone alright?”

“No, Lindsay. Everyone is not alright. Lisette is dead. Boyd is in critical condition. He’s in 
surgery right now.”

“Oh God! Oh no!”

“Don’t crack up in front of them.”

“They’re all asleep, Brian. It’s very late. Homer and Madam Dhue arrived. She’s here with us, he 
was going to the scene.”

“Ask her for his cell phone number. I’ll tell him to come here.”

Before she could do so, he looked up to see Homer standing in the doorway of the waiting room. 
“I’ll call you back,” he said and hung up. He stood to greet Homer, closing his eyes as the 
elegant older man pulled him into a tight embrace. 

“We lost our fair haired girl, Brian,” Homer said in a soft, soulful voice. “We can’t let them have 
our boy, too.”

Brian squeezed his eyes shut as he inhaled a ragged breath, clinging to Homer as if to life itself. 
With Brian an exhausted wreck, staring catatonically into space as he sat beside Homer on the 
sofa, Ted reclaimed his phone and called the number Petra gave them. 

A voice with a thick Russian accent answered, “Dah?”

Ted panicked. What was that name again? “Uh, Oleg, please. I’m calling for Petra.”

“Petra? Who Petra?”

Ted wondered if that name had more play in Russia. Petra was the only person he had ever met 
with that name. He glanced over his shoulder at Brian. “What’s Petra’s last name?”

“Dubrova,” Homer answered. 

“Dubrova,” Ted repeated into the phone.

“Wait,” the gruff voice demanded. Another male voice finally responded. This man, too, had an 
accent, but it was far more refined, even smooth. “This is Oleg. Who are you?”

“I’m Ted Schmidt. I’m calling for Petra Dubrova.”

“Why is Petra not calling for herself?”

“She’s in surgery. I mean observing surgery. She said to tell you to come to Emory Hospital in 
Atlanta, Georgia right away.”

“She’s in Atlanta? Do you know the hour?”

Ted didn’t. He looked at his watch, shocked by the time. Everything was suspended during the 
crisis. Now he saw how long it all took to unwind. “I’m just repeating what she asked me to 
say.”

“Is Petra hurt?”

“No. But…”

“But what, Ted Schmidt?”

“Her partner, Lisette Coulter, was killed in the bombing at the High Museum tonight.” Silence. 
Finally Ted asked, “Are you still there?”

“Tell Petra Oleg is on his way.”

With that, he hung up. Ted pushed end and met Brian’s silent question with a shrug. “Some 
Russian guy. Said he’s on his way.”

“Okay.”

Bellamy and Daphne entered the waiting room. Homer stood to embrace his kin. “Where’s 
Madam?” Bellamy asked and Homer sighed. 

“At the hotel with the little ones.”

“Does the Coulter family know?”

“I told them the tragic news.”

“I’m sorry, Homer. It wasn’t clear.”

“Don’t you worry about that, boy. You can’t control that kind of thing.”

Brian narrowed his eyes at them. “Then what good is it?”

“It’s not,” Bellamy answered. “I’ve always said as much.”

“Oh dear God in heaven, there’s my baby boy!” Charles swept in, adding a dash of color to the 
scene with his cerise silk jacket and cerise and silver ascot. He was trailed by a glum Moody. 
Bellamy accepted a big hug from Charles and then Charles hugged Homer. “You haven’t 
changed a bit, you graceful hunk of mahogany man.”

Charles irrepressible personality threw a strange spark into the gloom. Brian groaned. “Could 
you curb your queenliness? People are dead. People are fighting for life. It’s not a fucking garden 
party.”

Charles focused on the handsome man in the green scrubs that only increased his beauty. 
“Darling, there’s never a better time for a touch of grace than when people are in distress. What 
can I do to help you?”

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Brian grumbled as he stood and walked out of the room. Bellamy 
looked at Charles and shrugged. 

“He’s bleeding all over the place. Boyd is his life.”

“No, Bell,” Charles said firmly. “Boyd is not his life. Boyd is his love. There’s a difference. We 
can all lose those we love and still carry on. I lost the love of my life, your dear father, after 
twenty-plus years together. Yet here I am. Do I miss him? Every hour of every day. Do I wish he 
were still here? Of course I do. But I have a son, as does Brian, and friends, as does Brian, and a 
life to be led, as does Brian. Andre would expect nothing less of me, just as Boyd would expect 
nothing less of Brian. The real drama queen of this little group is not the one wearing pink. But 
we’ll cut him slack because he’s afraid and he’s in terrible pain.”

Moody chuckled at that. Charles was a hoot. He left to find Brian and offer him something he 
could use. A joint. Brian stared at the stick he held out to him and said, “Where?”

Moody guided him to the exit over the stairwell. They sat on cement steps in the empty area and 
shared the joint in utter silence. Waiting. Waiting for word on whether Boyd was alive. On 
whether Boyd was whole. Waiting and smoking and not needing to say anything at all.
Current Mood: anxious
 
06:18 am - BURN Chapter 91
For Big B. Enjoy, all!

******


“Why don’t you all just go?” Brian announced to the assemblage in the waiting room, as Boyd’s 
surgery continued. “Except Homer and maybe Ted.” Frank had joined them by now, with 
nothing left for him to do at the museum. A rescue operation had turned into a recovery effort. “I 
appreciate your being here, but there’s nothing you can do and it’s late. Really late.”

“We’re staying,” Bellamy responded. “We care about him, too.” No one else made a move to 
leave. Brian just shook his head, irritated by everything at the moment. Staying, leaving, trying 
to be helpful, remaining silent, everything they did irritated him. He was physically and 
emotionally exhausted. Homer received word that Luann was on her way as soon as she could 
get a commercial flight. Since Boyd had the jet, she was at the mercy of the airlines. 

Charles suggested she could always charter a plane, as he had done, but they all knew she was in 
no rush to arrive. Homer offered to pick her up at the airport but she said she would take a cab. 
From what he overheard on Homer’s side of the conversation, Brian understood that Luann was 
none too pleased at having to represent the family with one sister dead and a brother clinging to 
life. 

That’s all he needed. That fucking bitch, who didn’t give a shit if Boyd lived or died. “Brian, 
may I talk to you alone?” Petra had emerged from the OR, her mask hanging at her throat. He 
sprang up to walk down the hall with her. They sat on two hard-backed vinyl chairs near the 
elevators as she took his hand between hers. His heart was pounding as if he had run ten miles 
instead of walking a few yards. Petra’s eyes reflected pain and overwhelming fatigue. Her 
attitude terrified him.

“Is he alive?”

“Yes, yes, darling. But listen to me. His injuries are a bit worse than anticipated.”

“How is that even possible?”

“I won’t bore you with discussions of compartment syndrome and the way the body reacts to 
having large muscle groups compressed for a long period of time. In a nutshell, there is concern 
for his ability to generate enough vitality in his limbs to promote healing. If he fails to do so, the 
only choice would be amputation, but it’s too soon for that decision to be made. The bones in his 
thighs were pulverized, so they’re rebuilding his legs with metal plates, screws and sections of 
cadaver bone. It’s a long process, but these surgeons impress me with their skill. One positive 
sign is that his knees escaped serious injury, which will assist with his mobility. A few bones in 
his left foot were broken, but these were clean breaks. He has superb muscle tone and the heart 
of an athlete. He’s tolerating the surgery very well. His kidneys appear to be functioning 
normally.”

“Plates and cadaver bone?” Brian went back to that bizarre description. 

“In a positive scenario, the cadaver bone knits with his own skeletal and circulatory system and 
the patch becomes seamless. The donor bone provides a framework for his natural bone to grow 
over and eventually it all merges together. At Boyd’s age, he is still capable of growing new 
bone, although more slowly than a child. The plates reinforce this structure. There are pins and 
screws to keep it all together. Because Boyd’s muscles and tissue have been compromised by his 
crush injuries, it’s much riskier and the chances for success are greatly reduced. But we must 
give him this opportunity to heal.”

“Does he need blood, bone marrow, anything?”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “All he needs from you right now is your love and your faith, 
Brian.”

“He has that. How much longer will he be in there?”

“Hard to say. As I suggested, it’s a very delicate procedure and both legs are involved. They’re 
working as fast as they can. They want to try and get him into the hyperbaric chamber within six 
hours after his extrication, because that’s the window of best result.”

“Then I can see him?”

“No. It’s a sealed environment. A critical care professional will go in with him, but there’s a 
period of adjustment before either can emerge. So, no one can go in without altering that 
environment. But there are windows, so you can look in at him.”

“I just want to touch his hand.”

“I know. But the other fear is infection from you or from anyone on the outside. He’ll be kept in 
as sterile an environment as possible. You’ll have to wear a mask and full regalia when you’re 
allowed to visit him, at least for a period of time. The risk of rejection of an allograft, or bone 
transplant, is far less than the risk of rejection with bone marrow or organ transplants. But there 
is some risk, and that is enhanced by the general difficulty a crush injury patient experiences 
with healing and infection. To protect him, they will severely restrict his visitors.”

“They can wrap me up in Saran wrap and foil, for all I care, Petra. Put me in a plastic bubble. I 
just want to see him.”

“I know. But you also have to sleep, Brian. You’re absolutely fried.”

“I’m fine. If you can be on your feet after all you’ve been through, I can be on mine.”

“I’m a doctor. I’m used to it.”

“And I’m a former club crawler. I can go for days without sleep.”

She smiled at that. “Did you call Oleg?”

“Ted did. He’s on his way. So is Luann.” Petra cursed in Russian and Brian smiled. “Whatever 
you just said, I agree.”

“Sorry. I just don’t want to see that bitch tonight. I should get back to the OR.”

They stood together and he leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Thanks.”

“Have faith, darling.” 

Just then, the elevator doors opened and a man stepped out. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with 
strong, handsome features. The clothes he wore were fashionable and expensive. He looked from 
Petra to Brian, and back again. He then opened his arms and she went into them. His chilling 
blue eyes closed as he held her and rested his chin on top of her head. For just a moment, Brian 
thought Petra was finally going to break. She shuddered and gripped the lapels of his jacket in 
shaking fists. But then she pulled herself together and spoke softly to him in Russian. He 
responded in the same language.

Without introducing them, she waved and returned to the OR. Brian stood there, staring. The 
man offered a big hand to him. “I am Oleg Dubrova.”

“Brian Kinney,” Brian said as he shook that hand, noticing his steely grip. “How did you get here 
so quickly? I thought you were in Russia.”

“Russia?” Oleg smiled. “I came from Buckhead. It’s an area of Atlanta. I live here.”

“Oh. You must be Petra’s brother?”

“No,” he said as they walked towards the waiting area together. “I am Petra’s husband.”

Brian stopped, stared. He didn’t think the night could get any more extreme, but it just did. Oleg 
stopped at the Coke machine and put some coins in the slot. Brian saw a glimpse of the chunky 
gold band of his Rolex as he fed quarters into the cooler. He retrieved a Coke for himself and 
then glanced at Brian. “Do you care for something?”

Brian shook his head as he repeated, “Husband?”

Oleg Dubrova nodded and walked on past the waiting room to stand by a window. He pulled out 
a tiny cell phone, punching in some numbers and then talking to the one who answered in low 
tones and rapid fire Russian. Brian went back to the others and gave them a brief recap of what 
Petra told him about Boyd. His gaze slipped to Oleg frequently as he did so. He couldn’t answer 
many of their questions, so they stopped assaulting him with them. Ted followed Brian’s 
attention to the handsome man by the window and asked, 

“Who’s that?”

“Oleg.”

“From Russia?”

“By way of Buckhead. Did you not notice whether it was an international phone number?”

“It could be a cell phone number. I never thought about it. Do you know how he knows Petra?”

“Yeah. Apparently he married her.”

They all stared in silent shock, except Homer, who knew more than he was saying. Brian zeroed 
in on him. “What can you tell us, Homer?”

“That’s Miss Petra’s story to tell, not mine.”

“And it’s a doozy,” Ted observed, as Brian winced.

“Who says ‘doozy’?”

Moody, who was reclining on a couch with the back of his head propped up on Charles’s knee, 
said, “I think Oleg is hot.”

Charles twisted one of his dark curls around his finger and gave it a yank. “Some horses can’t be 
rode and some mountains can’t be climbed, young one.”

“Oleg Dubrova was one of the most dangerous men in Russia and now he’s here,” Bellamy said. 
They all looked at him as he went on. “I didn’t know he was linked to Petra. But I know who he 
is.”

“Care to share?” Brian demanded, but Bellamy shook his head.

“Later.”

Oleg had joined them, slipping his phone into his pocket as he sat down on the couch beside 
Brian. He scanned the room with that cold blue gaze. “You are all Petra’s friends?” They 
murmured that they were, and he nodded. “Where are the police?”

“What police?” Brian asked.

“Police should be investigating, talking to you people.”

“Why?”

“Because of the bombing, of course.”

“Was it a bomb?”

“Of course it was a bomb. What did you think? A gas leak?”

Brian shrugged. “Are you guessing or surmising or do you know?”

“I heard it on the television. Explosive devices, they said. Multiple devices. It’s not simple to 
bring down a portion of a building, but not all. It takes expertise and finesse. This was no 
crackpot. This was a person with knowledge of explosives.”

Brian glared. “I’m sorry, but what the fuck do you know about it?”

Oleg glared back. “Everything, my friend. Everything.”

“When were you married to Petra?”

“I’m still married to Petra,” he stood and walked off as his cell phone signaled him. He began 
speaking Russian to the caller as he went. They all heard him say, with apparent agitation, 
“Ubeet nyeh umer!”

Silence followed his exit. Brian finally said what they were all thinking. “What the fuck?”

“Murdered not dead,” Charles responded. Brian looked over at him. He raised a brow as a silent 
question. Charles explained. “ ‘Ubeet nyeh umer’ means ‘murdered not dead’ or ‘killed not 
dead’.”

“How do you know that?” Moody asked, raising himself to an elbow to look up at him. 

“Languages are one of my many talents, dear boy. I’m fluent in Spanish, Italian, French and 
Portuguese. My skills in Russian and Polish are more rudimentary.”

“What else did he say?” Brian asked, begrudgingly admiring Charles’s skill.

“I couldn’t hear most of it, he was speaking softly for the most part, and very rapidly. Only that 
one phrase was clear.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Brian challenged him. “You got it wrong.”

“I didn’t get it wrong, and it makes perfect sense. I believe he’s telling someone Lisette is not 
dead, she was murdered. There is a distinction.”

No one said more as Oleg rejoined them. Time crawled. Brian couldn’t sit still. He paced over to 
the window, watching the rising sun begin to pale the night sky. The worst night of his life was 
over, and now the worst day of his life was beginning. He flinched as he felt a hand on the small 
of his back. Looking down at Petra, he realized how tired they all were. 

“He’s in recovery. They will immediately transfer him to the hyperbaric chamber once they feel 
he is stable,” she held his hand and led him back to the others. “Boyd has come through the 
surgery and the surgeons did a magnificent job of rebuilding his legs. We must all pray that the 
allografts and other mending succeeds. He’s being moved to the hyperbaric chamber as soon as 
they can safely transport him. It’s on a different floor and no one but Brian can go into that area. 
The next seventy-two hours are critical. If he’s going to be fighting infection from the crush, it 
will start to appear in forty-eight hours. If he has rejection issues, that, too will be seen. If his 
kidneys begin to fail, it would probably be in that time frame. If he can get through the next 
seventy-two hours, his chances of life will increase exponentially. For now, you should all go 
home. You won’t be permitted to see him. Once Brian has a glimpse of him, I will do my best to 
make him sleep for awhile in a room they have for family of critically ill patients.”

“I’ll be staying,” Homer said in a soft but firm voice. “I can’t leave Mr. Boyd, and his sister 
Luann will be arriving this morning.”

“I’ll stay with Brian,” Ted offered.

“Go,” Brian insisted. “But…thanks.”

“What about you, Miss Petra?” Homer asked. “You aren’t looking so good yourself.”

“I’ll lie down after Boyd is moved.”

Brian squeezed her hand. “Why don’t you go back with them? He has plenty of doctors here to 
look after him. You’ve already done so much.”

“No. I can’t.”

Brian wondered how much of her refusal was based on an inability to face that empty hotel room 
with all of Lisette’s things waiting for a woman who would never return. He winced at that 
thought, and visualized his own hotel room, full of Boyd’s belongings. But at least there was a 
chance Boyd would reclaim them one day. There was no such chance for Lisette.

“I’ll wait with Petra,” Oleg volunteered. The rest of them paused to hug Brian and Petra as they 
went, asking for a call, pledging their prayers and support. When there was only the four of 
them, Brian and Petra sat down with Oleg and Homer. 

“You need food,” Oleg said as he clamped a big hand on Petra’s small thigh. 

“No.”

“Yes, and none of this poisonous hospital food,” he placed a call and soon two burly men 
wearing dark clothes and too much jewelry appeared in the lounge. Brian realized they must 
have been waiting downstairs the entire time, or somewhere out of sight. Oleg spoke to them in 
Russian. One left while the other hovered. “Go away, get out of my view,” Oleg dismissed him 
with a wave. 

“You bring them here, Oleg? Your bratva?”

He smiled at her. “I have enemies.”

“Of course you do,” her tone was cold. “Some things never change.”

“And some do, golubaya.”

“How dare you say that to me now!”

“What the fuck?” Brian felt a rush of protective instinct come over him. He stood abruptly to 
challenge Oleg. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, tolerate any insult towards Petra. Not now, not ever. And 
he sensed she was being insulted. Homer walked over to him, putting a calming arm around his 
shoulders. Brian was too exhausted to be able to appropriately gauge relative danger. 

“Settle down, Brian.”

“You listen to your friend, goluboi,” Oleg said with a calm smile. He wasn’t in the least 
threatened by Brian’s reaction.

“Can’t you at least insult me in English?”

Petra sighed. “He called you ‘goluboi’ which means ‘blue boy’ in Russian. Just as ‘golubaya’ is 
‘blue woman’. This is Russian slang for queer.”

Brian shrugged free of Homer and sat down beside Petra again. “Why did you want him here?”

Oleg leaned over her to say, “Because there are some things only a man like me can fix, petukh.”

“There is nothing you can fix,” Brian responded. “Nothing. Dead is dead and critically injured is 
critically injured and no amount of retribution or whatever the hell you have in mind will change 
that.”

“In this you are right,” Oleg conceded. “But Russians understand things perhaps a little 
differently than westerners.”

Petra looked at Brian, the expression in her tired eyes suddenly changing into something hard, 
something cold, as she said, “The one who did this must be made to pay, Brian.”

“That’s what the police are for, Petra.”

“Only if they find him first.” Brian couldn’t believe Petra was saying these words. Petra, the 
healer, the rescuing angel, the saver of lives. 

“And if they don’t?” Brian asked. Oleg answered as he cast a frozen gaze on Brian’s face.

“Mertvyi.”

“Dead,” Petra translated, but her translation was unnecessary. Brian had already figured out what 
Oleg meant.
Current Mood: worried
 
05:50 pm - BURN Chapter 92


Boyd awoke in pain. He was still imprisoned. His first reaction was to panic. He tried to move 
but he was completely immobilized, strapped to a guerney While the crush of a wall no longer 
confined him, he was now inside a strange metal cylinder. An amplified voice commanded, 
“Knock him down. Don’t let him move.”

His terror ramped, but the person who came at him was clad in scrubs, a mask, a scrub hat and a 
scrub gown. The clothes disguised gender. A needle fed amber liquid into a lead, and the drug 
“knocked” Boyd down into a state of narcotic calm. 

“You’re fine, Mr. Coulter,” the person dressed in sterile garb had a male voice. “You’re at 
Emory Hospital in Atlanta. You’re inside a hyperbaric chamber, which is an oxygen treatment to 
help you heal. My name is Ray. I’m your nurse. Stay calm and breathe normally. Are you in 
pain?”

“I don’t know,” he could barely speak. His throat was dry and sore from previous intubation. He 
thought he was in pain before, but now he wasn’t sure. His legs felt heavy and hot. “I need to 
pee.”

“You’re catheterized. You’re just feeling the pressure of the catheter. Your kidneys are working 
fine.”

“Brian…”

“No, my name is Ray.”

“Brian, my partner. Where?”

The nurse spoke to the Mighty Oz outside the chamber. The person monitoring all of Boyd’s life 
signs on multiple screens played the role of the Wizard. “Is Mr. Coulter’s friend still here?”

“I’m here, Boyd,” Brian’s voice came over the speaker and Boyd felt as if he had been kissed by 
a soft ocean breeze. 

“Can you come to me?”

“I’m on my way down,” Brian responded. “They won’t let me in there. I’ve already tried. But I’ll 
press my ugly mug against your window. Look to your right.”

Boyd turned his head. The glass window was like a pressurized porthole, bolted to the metal. The 
glass was thick and a little opaque. Brian pressed his face to the window, flattening his nose and 
lips into a funny mask. Boyd smiled and asked the nurse to free his right hand. He released a 
strap and told him to be careful of the tubes. Boyd reached up, the back of his hand bruised and 
punctured with leads that were taped in place. He spread his fingers on the glass as if to caress 
Brian’s face. Brian spread his own hand on the opposite side of the glass. 

“You look so tired,” Boyd said as Brian forced a smile. 

“At least I’m not in an iron lung.”

“Will I ever dance Swan Lake again?”

He saw concern enter and leave Brian’s eyes with quicksilver speed. “About as well as you did 
before.”

“Are they both still there? All I feel is warmth.”

“Everything is intact, if a little beat up. Enjoy this lack of feeling. I think when it all kicks in, it’s 
going to hurt. Be calm, rest, heal.”

“What day is it?”

“The day after.”

“Have you been to bed?”

“I’m not tired.”

“Go to bed.”

“Make me,” Brian tapped a finger against the glass between them. 

“The kids?”

“Lindsay, Jane and Madam Dhue are looking after them. They don’t know what happened.”

“Is Petra okay?”

“Fine. She’s stayed with you the whole time. We finally made her lie down.”

Boyd grimaced. “Lis…” Motionless, bloody, ‘don’t let them win’. 

“Not now. Don’t go there, baby.”

“Jesus! Lis!”

Brian rolled his lower lip and bit down on it before he tried to speak. “It sucks, I know. But not 
now.”

Boyd felt warm tears roll down his face to be absorbed by the pillow under his head. “I want you 
to touch me. I need to feel your touch.”

“They won’t let me come in there. I’m sorry, Boyd.” Brian sounded frustrated, even frantic.

Boyd exhaled a ragged breath, struggling for control. “Go to bed, Brian. You’re so exhausted.”

“Quit trying to get me in bed when you’re unwilling to do anything about it, once I get there.” 
Brian looked to his right. “They’re telling me I need to let you rest.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Sleep heals.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be right across the hall and they’ll come find me when we can talk again. Until then, you 
have to rest your body, Boyd. You really do.”

“Brian, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“If I get through this, let’s get married.”

Brian smiled. “No if’s. When. And you won’t be so long in your recovery that all the laws 
against us will have changed. Besides, we’re already married in every way that matters,” Brian 
held up his hand bearing the ring that matched Boyd’s. 

“Where’s my ring?”

“I have it. They gave it to me to keep until they take all that machinery out of you.”

“Don’t lose it.”

Brian held up his other hand. Boyd’s ring glistened from it. “No way.”

Ray gave Boyd another infusion of a drug and his hand slipped from the glass as he dropped into 
slumber. Brian saw the image before him blur because his eyes filled with tears. Steeling 
himself, he took a deep breath and reluctantly left the anteroom.

Instead of going to bed, he went outside to smoke a cigarette in the sun. He inhaled once before 
he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. He looked up at Oleg Dubrova, who sat down beside him 
on the bench and lit one of his own. “Following me?” Brian asked as Oleg grinned at him.

“You’re a pebble under my shoe, goluboi ,” Oleg responded. “You matter only because you 
matter to Petra.”

“Where is she?”

“Sleeping. She’s fine, don’t you worry. I have someone looking out for her.”

“So are you this fabled Russian Mafia we keep reading about?”

Oleg laughed. “No such thing as Russian Mafia.”

“Right. Get this straight. You take a hit on the person or persons responsible for this, fine. I don’t 
even care. But I don’t want my partner or Petra or anyone I do care about implicated in any way. 
You understand?”

“You do your job, whatever it is, and I’ll do mine. I don’t tell you what to do, you don’t tell me.”

“When Petra stops acting in automaton mode and the enormity of her loss hits her, she’s going to 
fall down hard. We have to be there for her.”

“I’m always here for Petra. Always have been, always will be.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you so interested in her? She obviously left you for a woman. Why are you still 
married to her?”

“Not your business.”

Brian stood, and suddenly his world swayed. It was like an earthquake hit, rolling the ground out 
from under him. The nicotine combined with stress, exhaustion and no nutrition caused him to 
reel. Oleg stood up and put a strong arm behind him. “You need to lie down. Come, I’ll help 
you.”

“I’m fine,” Brian tried to shake free, but after one step, he had to grab onto a nearby pillar to 
keep upright. Oleg shook his head. 

“Either you walk with me or I throw you over my shoulder.”

Brian looked at him and smiled slightly. “In other circumstances, I might like that. Okay, come 
on.” He let Oleg help him by holding tightly to his forearm. They walked slowly to the room the 
hospital made available for Brian so he could sleep. Some of Oleg’s men emerged from 
concealment to walk with them. When Brian stretched out on the single bed, he noticed one of 
those men closed the door behind Oleg as he left. He wanted to protest the uninvited guard, but 
before he could say anything, he was asleep.

*****

Luann was surprised to find Homer alone in the waiting room. Where were all of Boyd’s so-
called friends? Where was his loving partner? Where was Lisette’s Russian doll? She was 
irritable from an early commercial flight. This whole experience seemed a waste of time. 

“I’m so sorry, Miss Luann,” Homer stood to embrace her, but Luann resisted his hug and sat 
down heavily on the couch. 

“It’s horrible. Where’s Boyd?”

“The good news is, he survived the surgery and now he’s in some hyperbaric chamber that’s 
supposed to help him heal.”

“What the hell is that?”

“I don’t fully understand, Miss Luann. But Brian’s over there with him. They won’t let no one 
else go see him. We sent the rest back to the hotel for awhile. Been on their feet way too long. 
Miss Petra’s resting somewhere nearby, the poor little thing.”

“And Lisette? Where is she?”

Homer looked surprised. “Miss Luann, I done told you that Miss Lisette…”

“Yes, Homer. I know she’s dead. But where did they take her body?”

“Last I heard they hadn’t been able to get her out of that rubble just yet.”

“God, that’s disgusting,” Luann said with a sigh. “Georgia is like a third world country.”

“How are your mother and father taking it?”

“How do you think, Homer? How badly hurt is Boyd?”

“Very badly hurt. Both legs crushed, all sorts of problems from that sort of injury, I’m finding 
out. Praise God that he’s a strong and healthy young man.”

“Yes,” Luann said with a tight smile. “Praise God. His children are with Madam?”

“Yes m’am.”

“That’s good. How much does this hyperbaric chamber thing cost anyway? Are we throwing 
good money after bad if it’s not going to do him any good?” She seemed to realize how that 
sounded. “I mean I don’t want my brother to be used as a medical guinea pig for some ridiculous 
experimental treatment.”

Homer drew himself up, stick straight, in the chair. “Brian has a piece of paper that Mr. Boyd 
signed in front of witnesses and a notary a couple months ago giving him every right to decide 
on Mr. Boyd’s medical treatment. He’s the only one besides Mr. Boyd who has that right,” 
Homer made that point very clear. 

Luann stared hard at Homer. “What other papers did my idiot brother sign in favor of his favorite 
fag?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. I wouldn’t, now would I? But what does it matter? Isn’t that his 
bid’ness?”

“Not if Brian Kinney exerted some kind of undue coercion to gain favor. Obviously, he could 
have self-serving reasons for doing so. Boyd has children who deserve his attention and 
inheritance.”

“Neither one of them would ever do anything to deprive them children.”

“Don’t be naïve, Homer. Men are notorious for thinking with their dicks. Even my saintly 
brother.”

“It’s too late for that,” Petra’s voice interrupted. “Don’t try your machinations to garner some 
power over Boyd’s assets or his family, Luann. Long before we came here, we all sat down 
together so that Boyd could explain how his affairs were organized, and Lisette did the same. 
Boyd’s been very careful to insure that if he were incapacitated, his partner would not be denied 
access to him or to his fortune or to making decisions about his well being. And the well-being 
of his children. All airtight and legal, but also meaningless, in this instance, as Boyd will recover. 
I believe that.”

“In this country, we all know that wills and trusts and estates are made to be busted, Petra. 
Nothing is air tight.”

“How can you even think of this when Boyd is so critically injured and your only sister is gone?”

“Gone?” Luann smiled at her. “She’s not gone. Apparently we know right where she is. Don’t 
start spending her money all at once, bubalah. There are plenty of courts in Louisiana who don’t 
take kindly to the sisters of Sappho.”

Petra froze, but before she could react, Oleg arrived and put his arms around her in a tight, 
restraining embrace. They spoke briefly in Russian, then Petra stormed off and he turned to look 
at Luann. She saw a handsome face, a strong body, an appealing man, and an unexpressed threat 
that was chilling to her core. “You mourn your family like a good woman. You comfort your 
brother and your parents. You cry for your sister. You behave yourself like a normal human 
being, and don’t make threats to Petra Dubrova that you can’t deliver. You understand me, little 
beauty? Beauty is as fleeting as life. And life can go on without beauty whether you wish it to or 
not. You see what I’m saying?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Doesn’t matter who I am. Matters only what I can do.”

“Which is?”

“I can peel the skin off your face like the membrane on a grape, pack the lining with rock salt, 
and stitch it back in place. And that’s just the first course. The fun begins there and by the time 
dessert is served, death is the after dinner drink you’d crave.”

Luann shrank back, fumbling in her purse for her cell phone. “I-I’m calling the police.”

“Really?” he crossed his strong arms over his chest and grinned at her. “I’m waiting.”

She tossed the device back in her purse and said, “You don’t scare me!”

“Then you’re more stupid than you are evil.”

He walked away and Luann turned to Homer. “You just sat there and let him talk to me like 
that?”

“What’s one old man going to do against the Russian Mafia, Miss Luann?”

“Russian Mafia?” She tried to laugh, but her smile was a little twisted. “Bullshit.” Homer just 
shrugged. She said, “Why would the Russian Mafia be here?”

“Because Miss Petra called on him.”

“The perfect Petra knows the Mafia?”

“She was married to the Mafia,” Homer said and then sat back and watched that fact sink in and 
reflect on Luann’s pretty face.
Current Mood: bitchy
 
05:01 am - BURN, Chapter 93
Posting for Brian. Enjoy! Ran

*****



Petra wandered the hospital corridors like a lost soul. Her hair was falling free of her braid. She 
had tried to sleep but was jolted awake by nightmares of Lisette reaching for her through the 
rubble while Petra was unable to help. She went to check on Boyd, glancing at his chart and 
watching him rest in a narcotic sleep through the glass wall of his sterile room. She was too 
fragmented to go through the process of protective clothing, and she didn’t want to disturb his 
temporary peace. Oleg had tried to get her to go back to bed, failing that, to eat something, 
failing that, to talk to him, but she insisted she wanted to be alone. 

Where could she go? She wasn’t allowed at the museum site, they told them that the recovery 
effort was being conducted behind privacy barriers and that no one was allowed to penetrate 
what was now being treated as a crime scene. Once the survivors had been removed, the forensic 
people were admitted, along with the diggers, the ones who had the unfortunate job of finding 
and piecing together the remains of people who were once vibrant and alive. 

She went to the ER to inquire about other survivors, but she wasn’t on staff at this hospital, and 
while they were courteous to her and grateful for her help on the scene, no one was sure how to 
respond to her questions. She avoided the press, who hovered at the perimeter like vultures. She 
wanted to talk to Boyd’s children, but she didn’t think that was wise in her current frame of 
mind, nor was it her role to do so. 

What was her role now? Where exactly did she fit in life?

Strong hands enclosed her biceps from behind, and she froze as Brian said, “Come with me.”

“You were asleep. I looked in on you,” she said vacantly as he grasped her hand in his and led 
her to his room.

“I woke up.” No need to tell her that Oleg awoke him and asked for his help. Once they were 
alone, he sat down beside her on the rumpled bed. She was so petite her feet swung above the 
floor. He put an arm around her shoulders. He felt her tense. 

“Let it go,” he said in a soft voice and she looked up at him and shook her head. “You’re safe 
here with me. There’s nothing more you can do for anyone right now. Boyd’s being well cared 
for. Let go of it.”

“I can’t.”

“Because?”

“I don’t know where the bottom is, Brian. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop from drowning.”

“I won’t let you drown.”

“Lisette,” saying the name caused her emotion to catch in her throat. “Lisette was an 
exasperating woman,” she offered him a quiver of a smile. “She was so strong, so beautiful, so 
intelligent, so fully realized that she was intimidating as hell on first meeting.”

He squeezed her hand. “I remember feeling that way myself. Hell, I wanted to fuck her.”

She laughed. “Everyone wanted to fuck her. But she was so much more than sexy and beautiful. 
She had a good and clean heart beneath all that courage and strength. When she loved you, she 
loved you absolutely. Nothing got in the way of that love. She loved Boyd that way. His 
children. She loved me that way.”

He nodded and she asked, “Did Boyd ever tell you how Lisette and I met?”

“No.” He had, but Brian wanted her to talk.

“I was new to New Orleans, lost, separated from Oleg, aware of my true self but unsure what to 
do about it. I went to a charity auction with a doctor friend from the hospital. He wanted to date 
me, but I considered him just a friend. Part of the auction was that handsome and beautiful and 
successful men and women were to auction themselves off as dates to high bidders. Nothing at 
all was salacious about it. All was for the charity, all planned and above board. I didn’t have 
much money. I was a resident and I was not accepting money from Oleg. But when she walked 
out, I outbid every man in the place. My friend was appalled. He thought it was a cultural flaw 
on my part. He assumed that I didn’t understand what was being offered. I told him I understood 
completely.

“She came over to me afterwards and leaned close to me as she whispered, ‘I willed you to bid 
on me’. From that moment on, we were never apart. Until…now. Oh my God, Brian, my God, 
what am I to do without my darling girl?”

Her sob was so wrenching, it shook her entire body and Brian pulled her into his arms, holding 
her and stroking her long hair as she sobbed. Finally, the only sound she could make was a series 
of spastic shudders and exhalations. She felt limp in his embrace, and he wondered if she’d 
fainted, but she was just completely drained. 

The bed barely shifted under her weight as he helped her stretch out, placing her head on the 
pillow. Her hair fanned out like the dark cloud of grief that hovered over her. He felt tears on his 
own cheeks, but he made no effort to wipe them off as he stretched out beside her and pulled her 
close to his body. Her leg stretched over his, her hands spread on his chest. There was nothing 
sexual about the provocative pose, not because they were gay, but because they were both 
emotionally void at the moment. He just knew she needed the contact of another, caring human 
being to shelter her and she didn’t protest his loving embrace. 

“How long since I felt a man’s dick against my thigh,” she whispered with a faint smile and he 
smiled back.

“Sorry. I’m not hard, it’s just big.”

“That’s what they all say,” she teased him. “But true enough. I saw you in the showers.”

“Modesty has never been my strength.”

“For good reason. Brian, I have no family now, no anchor.”

“That’s so completely not true, Petra. Boyd, me, our kids, we will always be your family. 
Always. Nothing has changed. If not for you, Boyd wouldn’t even be fighting for life. Do you 
think we don’t love you? Before this happened we loved you. Now, you’re our saint.”

She nuzzled under his chin. “I’m no one’s saint, but being part of your family is all I have to 
keep me going right now.”

“We all need each other for strength,” he started to say something else, but then he realized she 
had fallen asleep. He made room for his cheek on the pillow and closed his eyes, his own 
exhaustion plunging him into restorative slumber.

Oleg cracked open the door when he heard no sounds from within. He had listened to Petra’s 
sobbing. He had to struggle with himself not to go to her, for he knew she wanted no comfort 
from him. The petukh was what she needed at that moment. Seeing them snuggled together like 
the lovers they never were and never would be, Oleg felt old emotions surface, causing him to 
experience a phantom jealousy. Not so much that he thought Brian was too physically intimate 
with her, but because Brian had an emotional connection to her that he lacked, despite their 
history, or perhaps because of it. Petra had been his wife, but she was never his on any level that 
mattered. 

He closed the door and walked down the corridor towards an exit. Time for a smoke and to find 
out what was known about the bombing. He flipped open his phone as he hit the waning 
sunshine. He had a job to do. In this way, he could be useful to Petra after all.

***

Boyd was dreaming. 

He was with Brian on a luxurious cruise ship, sailing away from the Venetian coast at dusk. He 
had been on that cruise with his family when he was a boy and he still remembered the violet 
light that graced the city after the heat of the day. It was unlike any light he had seen before or 
since. He cried when they left Venice because he was so fascinated by the canals, the bridges, the 
bronze horses stolen from a Hippodrome and now gracing the edifice of a church. 

His father told him to cut it out and quit being a crybaby.

In his dream, he stood with Brian, leaning against the railing of their private veranda. Both were 
wearing white robes, supplied by the ship. Boyd sensed sex had been enjoyed recently, he had 
that post coital warmth and peace he always felt after having sex with Brian. The Venetians were 
serenading the ship’s departure with a small band onshore. Brian took Boyd in his arms and they 
began to dance. 

They danced well together, same size, same sensibility to music. They were no Fred Astaire and 
Gene Kelly, but they could pass. Suddenly, Boyd realized his legs were on fire. They were 
burning from the thighs down. The skin was blistering and sloughing off, the raw muscles 
contracted in pain, his bones were popping apart under the heat. Brian didn’t seem to notice, 
continuing to hold him and dance with him as Boyd’s legs turned to char.

He woke up with a scream. 

No Brian, no coast of Venice, no ship, no band. But his legs were on fire, that one part of the 
dream was true. No flames, no smoke, but the heat was there, his skin felt like it was ripping 
open and his bones ached and seemed to be coming apart in fractures. Every muscle fiber twisted 
and contracted. He couldn’t move. He was still restrained. People covered up in green scrubs and 
masks and other gear rushed over to him. Someone fed a long needle into a tube that ended in his 
hand. 

“I don’t want to sleep!” He begged them. “I want Brian!”

“Just relax, Mr. Coulter,” someone said. “Don’t be such a crybaby.” He was back in Venice, only 
this time Brian was replaced by his father, who repeated the last part of that statement.

“I just want Brian…” he muttered, to the nurses, to the doctors, to his father, to Venice. But no 
one seemed to hear.

***

Brian left Petra sleeping, careful not to wake her. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, 
but it was dark outside the windows of the room. He walked down to the critical care area where 
Boyd was being kept in isolation. He identified himself and the duty nurse said, 

“He’s been a little restless. He asked for you.”

“Why didn’t someone tell me?” Brian demanded and she shook her head.

“We knocked him out with medication. He was in a lot of pain.”

“How long will you keep doing that?”

“That’s up to his treating physician.”

“Can I see him now?”

“He’s asleep.”

“I won’t disturb him.”

She supervised his washing up and helped him into sterile wrap. As she did so, she explained the 
rigor they had to observe to spare Boyd from possible contamination. He assured her he 
understood and had no plan to endanger his partner. Finally, he was led to the room where Boyd 
was still under intense observation. He paused, looking at him through the glass, his voice 
filtered by the mask they made him wear. “Why is he still restrained?”

“His legs aren’t in plaster, they’re in soft splints because of his compression injuries and because 
we have to monitor the possibility of infection. He can’t flail around in a semi-conscious state 
because he could severely re-injure himself.”

Brian nodded, steeled himself, and a series of two sliding doors admitted him to the area. He 
walked over to the bed and stared down at his lover. Boyd’s handsome face was unblemished by 
his ordeal, peaceful in sleep, his lips slightly parted and eyes moving behind his lids, as if in a 
dream. Brian reached out a gloved hand to smooth his pale hair. His chest was bare, except for 
the monitoring devices attached to it, and a tent-like scaffolding kept the sheet from touching his 
legs. 

Equipment surrounding the bed whirred and beeped and put fluids into him and dripped fluids 
out of him. But Brian could touch his hair and that meant the world to him at that moment. He 
put his face close to Boyd’s ear and said, “Are you asleep?”

Boyd’s eyes fluttered open. He seemed confused, staring at the masked man beside his bed, who 
was combing his hair with his fingers. He was still heavily drugged, so the pain was just a low 
murmur. The unmistakable hazel eyes of Brian Kinney became clear to him above that mask. He 
smiled. He turned his hand over, palm up, ignoring the pinch of the tubes. It was about the only 
movement he could make. 

Brian stared into Boyd’s narcotic-glazed eyes and drifted his latex fingers across his open palm. 
“I told them I wouldn’t wake you.”

“It’s about time they let you see me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Brian’s touch was more soothing to him than the pain medication, on a psychic level. “Have you 
slept?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you all covered up?”

“They don’t want to expose you to any germs.”

Boyd smiled. “I think I’ve already been exposed to anything you’re carrying. Take off your 
mask. I want to see your face.”

“I can’t do that, Boyd.”

“Please?”

Brian shook his head. He didn’t want to deny him anything, but he wouldn’t risk his recovery. 
“My face is the same as it’s always been, nothing new to see.”

“You got some new cuts and bruises.”

“I’ll live.”

“How long will I be treated like a precious little flower?”

“Not sure. At least seventy-two hours.”

“How bad is it under there?” he looked down at his legs.

Brian blinked. “Good news is, they’re both there. Bad news is, they’re both there. It’s going to be 
a long recovery, Boyd. I won’t shit you. The first thing they have to do is make sure you don’t 
get infected.”

“Will I have to go back in that chamber?”

“Yeah.”

He winced. He didn’t want to be enclosed again. Not ever. “Why?”

“It helps the healing process. Go with it.”

“Have you talked to the kids?”

“Not yet.”

“I want you to do it, Brian. No one else. They need to get back in school. Go home with them.”

Brian grimaced. “I’m not leaving you here, Boyd. Sorry. I will talk with them, but Lindsay and 
Jane can take them home. Stay with them. I’m not leaving Atlanta until we can leave together.”

Boyd smiled. “Part of me wants you to stay, but the kids need stability.”

“Jane is as stable as they come and Madam is also there to help. It’s decided. Forget about it.”

“Can I see them?”

“I’ll see if I can bring them by to look at you through the glass, but I know they won’t let them 
come in. You only get one visitor and they don’t let children in due to the fact they tend to carry 
more germs.”

Boyd considered that option. “Do you think it will scare them?”

“I think they’d want to see that you’re alive and in one piece. Well, pretty much.”

“Okay, then. Organize that, would you?”

Brian nodded. The woman outside the glass was giving him the “time is up” signal. He sighed. 
“They’re making me leave.”

“No!” Boyd protested. “Please don’t go.”

“I don’t want to go, but if I give them shit, they may not let me come back. I’m right down the 
hall.”

“Kiss me.”

“I can’t. Even in a mask, that’s prohibited.”

Boyd’s eyes beseeched him and Brian leaned down and pressed his cheek to Boyd’s bare 
shoulder. Boyd felt the warmth of his skin, the tickle of his eyelashes and he sighed, appeased. “I 
love you,” he said and Brian nodded, squeezed his fingers.

“I love you, too.”

“Come back as often as they’ll allow.”

“I will. What’s wrong?”

He saw Boyd’s face twist in a grimace. “It hurts a little.”

“I’ll tell them.”

Brian waved and waved again as he exited the door. On the other side of the glass, he removed 
his cap and mask so Boyd could see his face. Boyd smiled and nodded. “He hurts,” he said to the 
nurse. She replied,

“And he will hurt, Mr. Kinney. All we can do is try to manage the pain, keep it at a level that is 
bearable, but he will have pain in his recovery, there’s no getting around that fact.”

“Just so you let him decide what’s bearable, not some chart or some medical call. It’s his pain.” 
She nodded. “Who do I talk to about letting his children stand at the glass so they can see him 
before they fly home?”

“His doctor. But they can’t go into the room.”

“I know that.”

He waved at Boyd again, but his lover had closed his eyes and seemed to be lost in a fitful sleep, 
his winces and twitches convincing Brian that there was no peace in that darkness.
Current Mood: worried
 
07:48 am - BURN, Chapter 94


“Daddy!” Gus threw a flying tackle into Brian’s knees. Mac hit him from the side with a full 
body block and Belle piled on. Brian let himself fall to the carpet, covered in kids. Gus straddled 
him as he asked, “Are you a doctor now, Daddy?”

Brian smiled. “No, I’m just disguised as one.”

“Where’s Daddy?” Belle demanded as Brian struggled free to stand up, and then collapse on the 
sofa, just in time for Gus to scramble onto his lap. He intended to take priority with Brian at any 
cost. 

“Sit down, Belle,” Brian patted the sofa beside him. “You too, Mac.” He patted the other side. 
He then looked at Lindsay, with her arm in plaster, and asked, “Can you order me some food 
from room service? Something quick.”

She nodded, glad to have a task. “Okay, here’s the drill,” he began with the children.

“Is my Daddy dead?” Belle interrupted, the death of her mother still recent enough to make her 
concern understandable. Brian reached over and spread his hand over the top of her head. 

“No, no. Of course not, Belle.”

“Then where is he?”

“He’s at the hospital.”

“Why?”

“There was an accident. He broke his leg. Well, both legs. They need to keep him in the hospital 
until they can be sure his bones are mending.”

“Like Mama broke her arm?” Gus asked. Brian smiled at his son.

“But worse.”

“Will he be home tomorrow?” Belle wouldn’t be distracted.

“No, not that soon.”

“The day after?”

“Belle, I don’t know. We want Daddy to get the best care, don’t we? The hospital is where he’ll 
get that.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “I want my Daddy!”

“Listen to me, Belle,” Brian said with absolute calm. “I know it’s scary that your dad is in the 
hospital. I wish he were here, too. But that’s where he needs to be and we don’t want him to feel 
bad about it, do we?”

She shook her head as a large tear broke free to trail her cheek. “I wanna see him.”

“I’m going to take you and Mac to see him in a little while. He’s in a special room and you can 
see him through the glass wall, but you can’t go inside. Only adults can go inside. But you can 
look at him and wave at him and he can see you and wave at you. He’s got all kinds of cool 
machines hooked up to him so they can watch his heart and all of his body functions. They don’t 
hurt, but they’re weird to see. His legs hurt, you know how it is when you have a bad fall or 
something, it hurts before it heals. But he’s very brave.”

“I wanna see Boy’ too, Daddy!” Gus pouted and Brian sighed.

“Listen, Sonny Boy, I’m just taking Belle and Mac to see their dad. You can wait here with your 
Mom.”

“But Boy’ is my other Daddy, too!” His lower lip quivered and Brian hugged him close, unable 
to argue with that. 

“Okay, you can go, too. Now each of you get your paper and your crayons and draw a nice get 
well picture for Daddy that we can tape to the glass for him to see. I’m going to take a bath and 
change clothes, eat some dinner, and then we’ll go over there. Jane will go with us to help keep 
you guys corralled.”

She nodded, organizing the drawings as Lindsay trailed Brian into the bedroom. He closed the 
door and sat down heavily on the bed, too tired to undress. “I’ll run your bath water,” she 
offered, which was a bigger contribution with only one working arm. He stood and pulled off the 
shirt of the scrubs and then paused when he saw Boyd’s brush on the dresser. He picked it up, 
freeing a golden strand of hair from the bristles. He remembered dressing for the museum, a 
century ago, how nervous Boyd was about his speech, how hot the sex had been. He ran the hair 
over his fingers as his eyes flooded. 

“Are you alright?” Lindsay’s voice intruded. He didn’t turn around, steadying his voice as he ran 
the back of his hand across his face. He carefully tucked the hair back into the bristles as if no 
trace of Boyd could be sacrificed. 

“I want you and Jane and Madam to take the kids back to Louisiana tomorrow. They need to be 
back in school, in a routine. It’s what Boyd wants. Please stay at the house with them until Boyd 
can come home. Will you do that for me? I’m going to see if Homer can stay with you, just in 
case.”

“Of course, Brian.”

“Thanks. You can take the plane.”

“Whatever you say.”

He went into the bathroom, stripped off the rest of his clothes and slipped beneath the warm 
surface of the bath water. She stood in the doorway as his eyes closed. “Are you telling them 
about Lisette?”

“Not now. Let them deal with this, first.”

“What if they ask for her?”

“I don’t know. Make something up, I guess. I don’t know. Don’t make me think about that right 
now.”

“How bad is it, Brian? I mean you can’t die of a broken leg, at least.”

His eyes opened. They were dark, a sure sign of anger in Brian. “It’s not the broken bones that 
could kill him, Lindsay. It’s the fact he was crushed under a building for hours. Apparently that 
fucks with your body. It does bad things to your muscles. Your muscles release bad things into 
your system. And then, everything gets infected and refuses to heal. Yes, his life is very much in 
danger! Don’t minimize it. The next seventy-two hours, maybe it’s a little less than that now, 
will tell. And even when he gets through that crisis, the damage to his legs is so severe, they 
don’t know if the mending will take, if the bones will hold, if the tissue will regenerate. He could 
lose a limb to gangrene or any number of complications. Hell, he could lose both limbs.”

They heard a little gasp and Lindsay turned as Belle pushed past her to glare at Brian. The 
drawing she had brought in for a critique slipped from her hands. “You said he was going to be 
okay! You lied!” She ran out of the room in tears. Brian groaned and got out of the tub, reaching 
for a robe.

“I’ll talk to her,” Lindsay offered. “You’re in no frame of mind.”

“She’s my kid, not yours,” Brian said firmly. “I’ll handle it myself.”

He dismissed Jane from the room where Belle was face down on the bed, sobbing. He sat beside 
her, but she shrank away when he reached for her. She scrambled to a sitting position, her face 
red and wet, her pale hair askew. She reminded him so much of Boyd at that moment, the same 
piercing, inquiring eyes, the same stubborn persistence. “Y-you lied to me!” She accused him 
again. “You said Daddy was okay!”

“Belle…” Brian pulled her onto his lap and held her when she tried to struggle free. Finally she 
grew still, sobbing into the terrycloth of his robe. He stroked her hair as he said, “He is going to 
be okay. We have to believe that. I believe that. He believes that. But he was hurt very badly. It’s 
going to take a long time for him to get well. We have to be strong and help him.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?”

“I didn’t want to scare the little kids. Can you help me keep them from worrying? Can you be 
strong with the boys? If you get scared and want to cry or talk about it, come to me. It’s fine to 
be scared and cry. I was scared and cried. But now I just want to get your Daddy home with his 
family so we can take care of him, okay? And if we make him believe we’re all weepy and 
scared, it won’t help him one little bit.”

She wiped her nose and her eyes on the lapel of his robe and lifted his hand. “Why are you 
wearing Daddy’s ring?”

“They won’t let him wear it at the hospital, so I’m keeping it for him. I’ll give it back when he 
gets out.”

“Are you going to marry my Daddy?”

Brian sighed. “We are married in every way that counts.”

“I mean a real wedding. With cake.”

“The law won’t let two men have a real wedding, a real marriage, Belle.”

“Why?”

“Because people are scared of things they don’t understand. Just as we’re scared because we 
don’t understand all the doctor stuff Daddy is going through, straight people are scared of gay 
people because they don’t understand us.”

She looked confused. “It’s just love, Brian.”

“I know. You know. But they don’t know that.”

“Where’s Petra? She’s a doctor. She can explain all the doctor stuff to us.”

“Petra’s at the hospital with Daddy.”

“And Lisette too?”

“Lisette is…all around us, Belle. Can’t you feel her here? I can.”

She thought about that, and then shrugged. “Maybe. But where is she really?”

Lindsay knocked and opened the door. “Your food is here, Brian.”

“Ok,” he motioned for her to shut it. “Are you going to be strong for the boys, for your Daddy, 
Belle?”

She nodded.

“Then let me eat my dinner and we’ll go see him. How’s that?”

She nodded again. As he eased her off his lap to stand, she said, “Brian?”

He looked down at her. She continued. “Who would take care of Mac and me if something 
happened to Daddy?”

Brian knew that if he said that nothing was going to happen to Boyd, such assurances would fail 
to appease her want. She needed an end game for her darkest fears. “I would,” he said. She 
nodded and responded with one word.

“Promise?”

He crossed his heart, unable to find his voice, and she managed a weak smile as he leaned down 
to kiss the top of her head.

***

Brian called ahead to make sure Boyd was pain controlled, semi-conscious and prepared for the 
visit. Petra met them at the hospital doors, going down on one knee to accept the embrace of the 
children. Her rest had restored her calm and she already knew that Brian hadn’t told them of 
Lisette’s fate. She ducked questions from Belle about where Lisette was, and diverted the 
conversation to what the doctors were doing for Boyd. 

When they reached the critical care area, Brian went to dress in scrubs, but the nurse stopped 
him. “You can’t go in.”

“Why not?”

“His temperature shows a slight increase. We’re dripping an antibiotic. We don’t want to risk 
even a slight chance of exposure.”

Brian shot a panicked look at Petra, who left the kids with Jane to walk over to him. She spoke to 
the nurse in medical-ese and glanced at the chart. Brian saw by her face that she didn’t like what 
she read. She led him farther away from the brood. 

“I was just here,” Brian said with exasperation. “He was in some pain, but otherwise he was fine. 
How can anything happen that quickly?”

“Nothing happened, Brian. He’s just fighting a reaction. We expected this. By treating it early, 
we can hopefully keep it contained. Someone with his injuries seldom escapes at least some form 
of infection.”

He shook his head, raking long, quivering fingers through his hair. “No. This is what everyone 
feared. This is what we didn’t want to happen.”

“Stop,” she squeezed his arm. “You can’t go down a dark path every time he hits a small crisis or 
you will be consumed by fear and hopelessness and then you’ll be no good to him or to anyone. 
Do you hear me? You have to keep a positive attitude and impart that to him no matter what your 
deep inner fears may be. He needs hope right now, Brian, and no one can give him that better 
than you.”

He took a deep breath and nodded. The children were stunned to be in such a high tech 
environment, looking around the room where the medical staff worked. They eventually went 
over to the glass wall fronting Boyd’s room. Gus straddled Brian’s hip so he could see. Brian 
thought Boyd looked flushed, his features clamped against pain. But when he turned his head 
and saw his family, his smile was genuine. He could push a call button and be heard on their side 
of the glass. “Hey, gang.”

“Daddy!” Brian watched Belle nip her lower lip to keep from crying. He admired her courage. 
“Are you okay?”

Petra held down the intercom so they could converse. “I’m getting there, Belle. What a mess, 
huh?”

“Are your legs in white plaster, Dad?” Mac asked. Boyd shook his head. 

“Not yet. They want the operation to heal up before they cast it, I think. How are you guys?”

Gus rested his cheek on Brian’s shoulder and plunged his middle fingers into his mouth, 
frightened into silence by what he saw. 

“They won’t let us in there, Daddy.”

“I know, Belle. Sorry. But Brian can come in, right, Brian?” He looked hopeful, but Brian 
sighed.

“Not right now they tell me, Boyd. Maybe later.”

“Why not?”

“I guess they want you to rest.” He didn’t want to frighten the children by mentioning his fever. 
Boyd looked wary. He knew he was feeling funny, and this confirmed that fear. The children 
held up the pictures they had drawn, happy scenes, with sunshine and family and Gus had added 
an alligator to his that resembled a green squiggle with teeth. The nurses allowed the pictures to 
be taped up on the outside of the glass, but in a place that would not block their view. In the time 
that they were there, Brian watched Boyd’s temperature; reflected on the machinery, go from 
99.5 to 100.2. 

The nurse noticed too, and suggested they conclude their visit. “You guys get back to school,” 
Boyd told them, bringing groans from them both. “Next time I see you it will be in Louisiana.”

“We want to stay here with you, Daddy!” Belle insisted.

“Nothing for you to do here, they have it under control,” Boyd’s hair had grown darker with 
sweat, and his skin took on a moist gleam. “Go home and do well in school and maybe we can 
talk on the phone, soon.”

Brian peeled Gus off of him and handed him to Jane. “Take them back. I’m staying here.”

“Wait, Daddy!” Gus pleaded, holding both arms out to Brian. He took him into his embrace and 
Gus leaned towards the glass as he said to Boyd, 

“Gus loves you, Boy’.”

Boyd smiled. “I love you too, Gus. And you Belle, and you, Mac.”

His children affirmed that emotion and reluctantly left with Jane. Brian gave Gus a melancholy 
wave as they went. The nurse and a doctor, who had been talking quietly to Petra, suited up and 
went in to the room with Boyd, armed with various medications. Petra put her hand on Brian’s 
arm.

“We need to leave while they treat him.”

“No, I…”

“Please, Brian.”

And then he knew why she was trying to get him to go. They lifted the cover off the scaffolding 
protecting Boyd’s legs. The nurse held up the sheet to block Boyd’s view of his own injuries as 
the doctor leaned in to examine him. Brian gasped and grabbed Petra’s arm as if the small 
woman could keep him from losing his balance. Somehow she did.

“Motherfucker!” Brian said, taking in the horror that had been Boyd’s legs. What he saw didn’t 
make sense to him. There were feet, there was his hip area and there was something in between 
the two landmarks, but the mass of angry red and black patches, littered with bolts, hardly 
resembled limbs. 

“Brian?” Boyd’s voice sounded frightened as he turned to see the look on his lover’s face before 
Petra realized the intercom was still on. “Brian!” He cried out and Brian found some hidden 
vestige of strength as he pulled it together and forced his features to relax, his heart to quit 
pounding, his stomach to stop rolling. He met Boyd’s terrified eyes with a stiff smile. 

“Reminded me of when I was ten and took a bad spill down a hill while skateboarding and the 
cement burned off most of the skin left bare by my shorts. I guess I just got a memory of lost 
pain. Sorry, Boyd.”

Boyd convulsed in pain as the doctor did something to his legs and Petra felt how hard Brian was 
shaking as he gripped her arm. She wondered if he could stay standing much longer. 

“Just one minute, Mr. Coulter, and we’ll give you something for that pain.”

“Give it to him now!” Brian pleaded, but it didn’t matter as Boyd had drifted into his dark void 
where nothing hurt, nothing was real. Brian jolted towards the door, saying, “I’m going to be 
sick.”

The nearest bathroom was a women’s room, but Petra led him in and kept an arm over his 
shoulders as he vomited into the bowl. When nothing else would come up, he sank to the tiles, 
resting his head on his raised knees as he gasped for air. She flushed, retrieved wet paper towels 
and sat beside him to press one to his face. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

“W-what is it?”

“Horrific contusions, bruising, for the most part, surgical scrub, incisions, the metal pins you see 
are there to allow them to make adjustments without further surgery. They’re temporary. There’s 
a small area of skin graft where the extrication peeled back his flesh and didn’t leave enough 
skin to close the flap. I know, Brian. It’s horrifying to see. Especially for someone who doesn’t 
know what it all means.”

Brian looked up at her. “He’ll never survive that, Petra. Who could?” A tear creased his chalk-
pale cheek. 

“He can,” she said firmly. “We didn’t bring him through all this to give up on him now.”

Brian rested his forehead on his knees, refusing to weep, although that’s what he wanted to do. 
He wanted to weep like a little girl, until every frustrated and terrified tear was cried out of his 
body. Instead, he asked her to help him stand. She did so, with great effort, and he went over to 
the sink at a careful, rocky gait and rinsed out his mouth and splashed his face. 

Petra watched him recover his mask of calm. She greatly admired his courage. “Let’s go back.”

“Let me check first. You wait in the hall.”

He agreed, and as he waited, he heard someone say, “Brian!”

He turned. He focused on an unlikely and, strangely enough, not unwelcome visitor. “Claire?”

His sister walked over and they exchanged a timid sibling hug. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard. I had to come. For you, for Boyd. I really care about Boyd, you know that, and I 
thought you might need some help.”

One thing Boyd Coulter did for Brian, was that he helped mend a longstanding rift with his only 
living nuclear family member, and that meant a lot. That Claire cared enough for him and for his 
partner to come down here touched Brian deeply. “I can’t believe some monster did what they 
did,” she said. “Is he doing okay?”

Brian shrugged, unable to speak. He shuddered, and Claire took him in her arms, this time in a 
real embrace, and held tightly to him as he felt those endless unshed tears threaten again.
Current Mood: sick
 
12:00 pm - BURN, Chapter 95


Claire found Brian seated on a stone bench outside the hospital. He had announced that he 
needed a cigarette and then quickly disappeared. After a few minutes, she went looking for him. 
He sat there, almost in a trance, the cigarette growing a long ash as it hung between his lips. He 
bounced a neon green tennis ball against the wall, catching it, throwing it back at the wall, 
catching the ricochet. There was something hypnotic about his rhythm, and his movement 
seemed almost trance-like. Claire intercepted the ball and held it as she sat down next to him.

“Where did you find this?”

He shrugged and cleared the ash off his smoke. “On the sidewalk. I guess it rolled out of 
someone’s bag.”

“When you were a kid, and you were upset about something, or mad, or hurt, I knew where to 
find you. You’d be in the driveway shooting hoops, or dribbling a soccer ball with your feet or 
batting a tennis ball against the garage door with a racquet. I felt like you used it almost like self-
hypnosis to get through a rough time. So here you are, reverting to old habits.”

He looked over at her. She just told him something he didn’t know about himself and she was 
absolutely right. Maybe it was the repetitive nature of the bounce, maybe it was using muscles 
over brain, but he would lose himself in those activities, neutralize his pain. “Here,” she pressed 
the ball into his hand. “Bounce it.”

Brian tossed it at the wall, but let it land near his feet, shaking his head. Some pain couldn’t be 
relieved by an old habit. She sighed at the expression on his face. “I wish you hadn’t given up on 
faith. I think it might help you now. If only to comfort you.”

“Don’t bother with that, Claire. That train left the station.”

“I’ve prayed for him anyway. It can’t hurt.”

He shrugged. “Where are your monsters?”

She smiled. “John is back in military school. He’s doing rather well there, believe it or not. He 
has your smarts, and sadly some of your self-destructive habits as well, but he seems to be 
finding a balance. The little one is with his father.”

Brian looked up. “Since when is he in the picture?”

“I’ve pushed the envelope with him, Brian. Those boys need a father and he needs to step up to 
the plate. Maybe it’s his new wife. Perhaps she’s humanized him.”

“Are you okay with that? With his remarriage?”

She smiled. “I wish her luck. If you mean do I feel jealous? Relieved is a better word. Better her 
than me to deal with that man.”

Brian nodded. “You can do better.”

“It’s been wonderful living in Mom’s house, Brian. Thanks again for that. Without a mortgage 
payment, I’ve felt so much more at ease, financially. I’m taking some evening courses at the city 
university to finish my degree. Dropping out to marry was such a stupid decision on my part. I 
really want to be a teacher. I have twelve hours left.”

“You can do it.”

“I will do it.”

Brian leaned down to pick up the ball. His long fingers enclosed it as he moved it around in his 
palm as if to find the right fit with the right seam. The nappy texture of the tennis ball was 
soothing against his palm and the give when he squeezed it was comforting. “I’m a terrible 
father, too, Claire. Like your ex. I watch Boyd with his kids and I see what a good father really is 
for the first time. I love Gus, I love Belle and Mac, too, but I’m no good at it.”

“You’re not Daddy, Brian,” she put a hand on his arm. “I know you fear that, but you’re not. I’ve 
seen you with Gus and even with my kids and I know you have such good intentions.”

“What would I do with the full responsibility for two kids and partial for a third? How could I 
cope with that? I couldn’t. It would be a disaster. And I’d be fighting his family the whole way, 
and the swamp rats who were his ex-wife’s parents, too. What kind of life is that for kids?”

“First of all, Boyd is going to be okay. You have to start with that. Second of all, if the worst 
came to pass, which it won’t, you’ve never failed to find the strength you need to accomplish 
what’s important to you, Brian. I always envied you that.”

He glanced over at her. “I don’t feel strong now, Claire. I feel scared and lost and helpless.”

“You’re exhausted and those emotions are what anyone would be feeling right now, Brian. When 
we were young, I used to hate the fact that my brother was the pretty one in the family. How fair 
is that? You were already smart and a good athlete and tall. Why should you get to be the pretty 
one, too? But I learned from watching you that pretty didn’t mean protected. Life still came at 
you.”

He squeezed her hand. “You’re not so bad.”

“Please. I got every plain gene in the Kinney bloodline. Remember what Grammy used to say? 
Don’t fret over the things that might happen, the things that are happening right now are what 
matters.”

“I can’t seem to deal with either what is happening now or what might happen. I’m so fucking 
scared.”

She pried the ball out of his hand and put his fingers between her palms, watching a tear balance 
on his long lashes and break free to splash against his cheek. Another followed, and then another. 
She put her arms around him and held him as he rested his forehead on her shoulder and let the 
tears flow in utter silence. Occasionally his strong body would shudder, but otherwise, he gave 
no indication at all of his misery. Brian didn’t cry much as a child, never as an adult, and this 
reaction only sealed for her how much Boyd meant to him. 

Finally he leaned back with a deep sigh and she fished a tissue from her purse, handing it to him. 
Her blouse was wet from his tears, but she didn’t mind. He blew his nose and shook his head. 
“Sorry.”

“For?”

“Being a big baby.”

“Stop.”

“Boyd is the one with the right to cry.”

“So are you. It’s not easy watching someone you love in pain and being unable to help.”

“There you are,” Luann interrupted their quiet scene. She ignored Claire as she stared down at 
Brian. “They pulled Lisette out of the rubble, I’ve been informed. Apparently they are forced to 
do an autopsy in cases like these, although if they can’t tell the cause of death was being crushed 
under tons of debris, what is the point of being a coroner? Anyway, I’m going over with Homer 
to collect her things. There’s no identifying her by her face, they tell me, so they’ll do DNA or 
something. I’ve already called to get her medical records sent up here.”

“Have you told Petra any of this?”

“I’m only telling you in case Boyd asks. And in case anyone is looking for me. And then I’m 
taking Boyd’s children home on the jet.”

Brian stood, towering over the petite blonde. “I’ve already arranged for Boyd’s children to be 
cared for.”

“That’s fine, but I’m taking that burden off of you, Brian. They’ll stay with us at the plantation 
house. With their family. Their grandparents,” she kept upping the ante.

“Boyd wants them to stay in their own home, go to their own school. He wants as little 
disruption as possible. We have a very competent nanny and my little boy’s mother has agreed to 
stay there and help. Madam is also volunteering to do what needs to be done. This is what Boyd 
wants and they are still his children.”

“He’s in no shape to make those decisions. I’m his sister, I have his best interests at heart.”

Claire watched Brian’s hands ball into fists and the veins swell in his neck and arms. She knew 
he wanted to deck this woman, and she almost wished he would. She didn’t know Luann, but she 
didn’t like her either. Brian said, “He isn’t mentally affected, Luann. He can think perfectly 
clearly and make decisions about his children and he has. Don’t even try to take away what 
control he can exert over his life. Don’t even try to interfere with his family.”

“Or what?” She challenged him and Claire sighed.

“How can Boyd and Lisette have a sibling as slimy as you?” She asked. “Your sister is dead and 
your brother is fighting for his life and you’re interfering with his wishes for his children? What 
the hell are you? Not human, that’s for sure.”

“And you would be…?” Luann gave her the chilling, judgmental stare of the pretty girl taking in 
the wallflower. 

“She’s my sister,” Brian said. Luann laughed.

“Adopted?”

“No,” Claire fought back. “We may not look alike, but Brian and I share many traits. Foremost, 
the Irish ability to kick ass and take names. I will gladly kick your size zero ass into Tuesday, 
since my brother was raised not to hit girls. So I suggest you back it out of here and shut the fuck 
up.”

“Trash,” Luann said as she turned away, striding back into the building. 

The sound of applause caused Brian and Claire to turn to the left. Oleg smiled as he clapped for 
Claire. “Very nicely done. Would you like a job?”

“Who are you?”

Brian answered, “A friend of Petra’s. Petra is Lisette’s partner.”

“Oleg Dubrova, dear lady,” he introduced himself. Brian said,

“This is my sister, Claire.”

“Ah, the family tree expands.”

“Oleg, Petra needs to know they’ve freed Lisette from the rubble. They’re going to do an autopsy 
and identify her by her medical records, which doesn’t sound good for the condition of her body. 
Luann is going over there to get her personal effects. She’ll probably make arrangements for her 
remains, as well. That’s just wrong. Petra has that right. I’ll talk to Petra, break it to her, but 
someone needs to see that Luann’s trip to the morgue is delayed. I don’t mean anything extreme, 
Homer is with her, but she needs to be diverted. And no one takes those children out of this state 
except with my okay. Can you help me with that?”

“Consider it done.”

“Claire, I need to find Petra. Maybe you could go over there with her so she won’t be alone? I 
don’t want to leave Boyd.”

“Of course I will, Brian.”

As they walked to the elevator, she asked, “Who is that Russian guy again?”

“For now, just consider him on our side.”

That was enough for her.

***

Claire had fond memories of Lisette, but she didn’t know her well and didn’t know Petra at all. 
The two virtual strangers became fused by the heavy emotion of the moment as they went 
through the ordeal at the morgue. Petra demanded to see her partner’s remains, but was refused. 
The attendant tried to explain that she wouldn’t want to see her, but Petra battled back with, “I’m 
a doctor! It’s not as if I’m squeamish about the human body!”

“Petra,” Claire touched her hand. She feared the permanent horror that would stay with anyone, 
even a doctor, after seeing the person they loved most in the world destroyed beyond 
recognition. “Would Lisette want you to see her or would she want you to remember how 
beautiful she was in life whenever you thought of her?”

Petra stared at Brian’s sister and then covered her face with her hands and began to cry. The 
attendant left them alone, explaining he would be back. Claire thought it nice that he would give 
them this privacy. She opened her purse, glad that she had an excess of tissues, first for Brian 
and now for Petra. She also removed a small black leather box as Petra regained control. She 
handed it to her.

“What’s this?” Petra asked.

“Lisette gave Debbie, an old friend of Brian’s, these beautiful pearls she was wearing when she 
visited Pittsburgh. Debbie felt like you should have them, that maybe you would keep them for 
Boyd’s little girl.”

Petra opened the box and lifted the pearls that flowed across her fingers like solidified cream. 
She turned her back to Claire as she handed them to her and Claire fastened them at the nape of 
her neck. They gleamed softly against her scrubs and Petra sighed and closed her eyes. “She 
wore these on the night we met. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to have them back.”

“You’re very lucky, Petra.”

“Lucky?” Petra’s eyes flashed. “How can you say that to me now?”

“To have loved and have been loved the way you were. Some of us never have that. It’s a gift 
you will never be without.”

Petra found a wan smile as she leaned forward to kiss Claire’s cheek. “You have your brother’s 
heart and that’s a fine thing to share.”

The attendant returned. Petra was ready to sign papers. The plan was that following her autopsy; 
Lisette would be cremated. Her ashes would be shipped back to Petra in New Orleans. A 
memorial service celebrating her life and interring her ashes could be held when the situation 
with Boyd had stabilized. 

He handed her a box before he left. She opened it and found that it contained one Jimmy Choo 
satin slipper with a stiletto heel and a rhinestone clip, Lisette’s grandmother’s opal ring, a thin 
platinum chain necklace interspersed with diamonds, and a slim diamond-faced watch. The 
crystal on the watch was smashed. What looked like rust, clinging to each item, had a more 
organic source. When Petra sniffed the familiar dust, she shuddered, the scent taking her back to 
that hell hole of pain and loss. “She wore diamond studs in her ears,” she said quietly. “What’s 
come of them? They were a gift from me.”

“I’ll ask,” Claire left her there to inquire with the attendant. He looked up at her and said, 

“This is what we could recover. You have to understand, a heavy section of that wall collapsed 
above her, falling principally on her head. Even diamonds can be crushed if the weight is 
sufficient. There’s nothing there. Not even dental records would help. You see what I’m 
saying?”

Claire shuddered. How could she tell her that? She didn’t. She just said they didn’t find them. 
Petra didn’t ask. Placing Lisette’s belongings back in the box, she stood and said to Claire, “How 
can I leave her in this terrible place?”

“She isn’t here,” Claire assured her. “She’s moved on. So must you.”

Petra nodded and allowed herself to be led out of the building and into a taxi, clinging to the 
cardboard container as if it held her lover’s soul. 

*** 

Brian lingered outside the critical care area, waiting to be told he could go in and see Boyd. He 
had lost all track of time and wasn’t even sure if it was day or night. When Moody showed up, he 
was surprised.

“What are you doing here?”

“I brought you a care package,” he held up a large paper bag with handles. “Charles arranged it. 
Come on.” They sat down in the lounge where the television droned CNN. Moody revealed 
containers that held delicately fried chicken breast, mashed potatoes with cream gravy, green 
beans with pimento and almonds, and wedge of chocolate pecan pie. Brian stared at the food.

“I’m not eating that.”

“He says it’s from South City Kitchen, one of the best southern styled restaurants in town. You 
have to eat, Brian.”

“I just ate at the hotel.”

“That was hours ago.”

“Was it?” 

Moody nodded. “I was bored sitting around the hotel, so I volunteered to deliver some food to 
you. I have another sack here for Petra. Where is she?”

“At the morgue.”

They looked at each other and Moody winced. “Bummer.”

Brian ate a bite of this, a bit of that, a taste of the pie, and then pushed it away. “I’m not very 
hungry.”

Moody finished off the pie for him, then spread his hand on Brian’s thigh as he asked, “Want me 
to blow you?”

Brian stared at him. “Are you insane?”

“No. I thought it might help you relax or something.”

“You’re coming on to me with my partner fighting for his life in there?”

“Step down, big guy. I’m not coming on to you. I really mean it as sort of a humanitarian thing.”

Brian exhaled slowly and shook his head. He couldn’t be mad at Moody. He suspected things 
were exactly what he said they were. It was more of a gesture than a pass. “Moody, I couldn’t get 
it up for Brad Pitt.”

Moody smiled. “Dude, what about George Clooney?”

“Not my type.”

“Oh yeah. You like blonds. Um, the new Superman?”

“He’s not blond.”

“No but he’s totally hot.”

Brian laughed and shook his head. He had to hand it to Moody. He managed to distract him. 
“The only man I can think about right now is Boyd.”

“Nothing new there.”

“True. So are you going to Savannah with Charles, toyboy?”

“Yeah, but not as a toyboy, more as a student or a companion or something. I mean I’m totally 
not fucking him.”

“Right,” Brian sounded skeptical. “Don’t be too naïve or too soothed by his queenliness, Moody. 
You give a man the ability to control your life, he expects to have rights.”

Moody shook his head. “Charles isn’t like that.”

“I hope you’re right.”

A nurse interrupted them. “Mr. Kinney, the doctor wants to talk with you.”

Moody watched the color drain from Brian’s face, leaving his skin as pale as death as he stood 
and said, “Is something wrong?”

“If you’ll come with me,” she avoided his inquiry and Brian cast Moody a last look over his 
shoulder as he left. Moody swallowed hard, never having seen such fear and desperation in a 
single glance. He punched in a call on his cell when he was alone. 

“They came and got Brian to talk to the doctor, and it doesn’t look good. I need people over here. 
I’m not the type to handle this kind of thing if it goes bad. I never know what to say.”

He was reassured that others were on the way, and he hung up and began tossing the mostly 
uneaten food in the sack, his own appetite had suddenly vanished.
Current Mood: lost
 
03:06 pm - BURN, Chapter 96


Boyd was sick. He knew he was sick. Yeah, he was hurt, he knew that too. But this was 
something else. He ached in the way he always ached if he had the flu or a strep throat or 
something infectious. He was burning up, followed on with hard chills. He was sick to his 
stomach, but had nothing in him to throw up, other than bile. While the pain medication kept the 
hottest flames from consuming his legs, they were never completely without sensation, and the 
sensation wasn’t good.

He even thought he smelled sick, like his body was emitting the bacteria into the air around him. 
Like he was decomposing on the bone. They seemed more worried about his right leg than his 
left and if he had to guess which one hurt the most, he supposed it was the right. They were 
dosing him with medications, trying all kinds of things, but he sensed none of it was going right. 

“Please let me see Brian,” he begged the nurse once again.

“He’s with the doctor. They’ll let him see you after they talk.”

When Brian came in, he was wrapped in scrubs again, but Boyd could tell by the pain in his eyes 
that the news was bad. Brian didn’t glance down at the tented cover over Boyd’s legs as he 
leaned over to kiss his forehead through his mask. He could feel the heat of his skin, as Boyd 
asked, “Am I dying?”

Brian held his hand, mindful of the lines. “No. But they’re very worried about your right leg, 
Boyd. They think they may have to…to…take it in order to save your life.”

Boyd saw the tears soak into Brian’s mask. He felt bad for causing him this pain. He asked, 
“How much of it?”

“Mid-thigh,” Brian stumbled over the words, inhaled a sharp breath. Boyd nodded. 

“You don’t have to make that kind of decision for me, Brian. I will.”

“I want you to know, I don’t care about it. I mean I care, I hate for them to…to…but…” he 
stopped, shook his head, unable to go on. Boyd squeezed his hand.

“You mean you’ll still love me as a stump?”

“Don’t make a joke out of it,” Brian said. “And yes, I will.”

Boyd knew he meant it as he said it. He also knew that saying it now and meaning it later, when 
he was crippled, misshapen, lying naked in their bed, while missing a limb, he would never hold 
Brian to that commitment. Brian read something in his eyes and asked, “Would you still love me 
if it were me?”

“Yes,” Boyd said without hesitation and Brian smiled behind his mask. It showed in his eyes.

“Then why can’t you allow me that same level of dignity for how much I love you?”

Boyd brought Brian’s hand up to his face as he began to weep. He felt like a loser, crying over a 
lost limb when his sister was not yet cold in some horrible place. Or was she? How much time 
had passed? He had no idea anymore. But he didn’t want to lose a leg, to be that imperfect with 
his perfect lover, to be a burden, to be unable to keep up with his children. He was angry and 
scared and sad all at once. Brian stroked his hair with his other hand, and let him cry. Petra 
joined them, garbed to maintain the barrier of sterility. 

She stood beside Brian and placed her gloved hand on Boyd’s arm. “Don’t give up yet. The 
problem with this sort of infection, this sepsis, is that it can get very ugly very fast. It can start 
destroying tissue by the inch by the minute. And if it threatens your life, they want the flexibility 
to remove that harm from your body. Because in the end, your life is so much more than a single 
limb, Boyd. We all know that. So they want the ability to make that call, should it become 
medically necessary. And you know I will be here to make sure they don’t make such a decision 
precipitously.”

“They aren’t giving me time to heal! It hasn’t been that long. Give me a chance.”

“Darling, with this sort of injury, time can go from friend to foe in a heartbeat. Do you trust me?”

They both nodded. She said, “Do you believe I would never let them take that step unless I 
thought your life was at risk?”

They nodded again. 

“Then forget the rest. It’s off your plate. What happens, happens. Either way, you’re still Boyd 
Coulter, and Brian still loves you, and you still have two children who need you, and the rest we 
can manage together.”

His monitors showed his heart rate slowed from the peak when he got the news. He was reaching 
acceptance. “What would they do with it?” Boyd heard himself ask. Brian winced, but Petra said,

“Cremation.”

“A little at a time instead of all at once. Not what I expected from life.”

“Stop it, Boyd,” Brian insisted. 

“So what do we do now?”

“We wait,” Petra said, and retrieved a chair from its place by the wall and instructed Brian to sit 
beside the bed. “When you’re in here, his blood pressure normalizes because his anxiety levels 
off. You have a positive effect on him. So stay.” She could read the relief in Brian’s eyes. “I’ll be 
checking in.”

“Petra?” Boyd said as she turned to go.

“Yes?”

“Be conservative.”

“Funny thing to say to a liberal such as myself. But yes, darling, I know what you mean.”

Boyd turned his head towards Brian. “I’m so hot.”

“I know. Always.”

Boyd managed a smile. “Shut up. Is that me that smells so bad?”

“It all smells like hospital to me,” Brian lied. He had detected the scent but he forced himself not 
to think about it. 

“Talk to me. Make me think about something else.”

“Let’s talk about the house. I’ve been thinking about that big study we have on the ground floor. 
What if we made that the master bedroom and had an upstairs study? It would be more separated 
from the kids, more private, and it has a nice view of the pool.”

“In other words, it would be easier for a man with one leg to manage than having to go upstairs 
all the time?”

Brian met his eyes and sighed. “There’s an elevator in that house, Boyd, remember? Everything 
isn’t about your leg.”

“Keep talking,” Boyd urged him. “I won’t interrupt. Even if you think I’m asleep, keep talking.” 
He just wanted to hear his voice. Listening to Brian made him minimize the machinery, the pain, 
the sickness, the fear. Listening to Brian reminded him he had a life once, and maybe he would 
again. Listening to Brian was the last sound he ever wanted to hear.

***

Daphne was tired, worried and confused. Together with Ted, they were trying to keep the 
business going by remote access and without bothering Brian at all. She found herself making 
decisions that had to be made and spending money that didn’t belong to her, praying that Brian 
wouldn’t crucify her later. She collaborated with Ted, relying on his experience and age, but he 
seemed as nervous as she was. 

At the hospital, summoned by Moody, she sat with Charles and said, “I have no idea what’s 
going on with Bellamy.”

He smiled. “You’ll have to do better than that, dear. Bellamy is as inscrutable as Confucius.”

“He had Homer pick him up and they went out and when they got back, he said he had some 
work to do. He and Homer took a bag in the bedroom and closed the door. They were in there for 
a good long time. I thought I heard chanting. And now he’s waiting to see Brian alone. He won’t 
talk to me about any of it, won’t talk at all.”

“Sometimes it’s best to just let Bellamy be Bellamy and don’t ask too many questions, Daphne. 
His father was the same way. When he was working on something, there was no getting 
through.”

“But working on what?”

“You see? That’s the question you never ask.”

Daphne slumped back in a pout, but then Brian stepped out of the secured area and removed his 
cap and mask. He looked exhausted and emotionally drained. No one said anything. He spoke 
first. “It’s not good. He has an infection. His right leg is deteriorating. They may have to 
amputate it. He’s been alert and knows what’s going on. They just zapped him with morphine so 
they can treat his leg, and that tends to put him out of it for a while. I don’t know anything more 
than what I just said. I don’t want to answer any questions. Not now. Thanks for being here. I’m 
going to the bathroom.” 

When he stepped out of the stall and went over to wash his hands, Bellamy was there, leaning 
against the counter. “I need to talk with you for a minute.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No. Listen to me, Brian.”

Brian wiped his hands on paper towels as he turned a tired eye to Bellamy. “What?”

“I want you to take this, and when the nurses aren’t around, slip it just under the right side of the 
mattress. We’ll wrap it up in one of those latex gloves and tie it off in case there’s any fear about 
contamination. That won’t interfere with the mojo. Then take this one, and do the same under the 
left side of his mattress. This is very important. You have to pull them out and bring them to me 
after two hours. You understand?”

Brian stared at the two items resting on Bellamy’s palm. They looked like the art project of a 
spectacularly untalented child. Roughly egg shaped, they were a hard shell of mud, wrapped with 
a strip of blue cloth. What struck Brian was the fact there were a few golden hairs dried in the 
mud. And the cloth was from the blue shirt Boyd wore when he was injured. Brian was too tired 
to argue about who gave him permission to do this, but he wasn’t about to expose Boyd to 
anything like this.

“No way.”

“You tell Boyd they’re there, that I made them, that he has to believe. Tell him he’ll feel a little 
picking feeling in his legs as they go to work, nothing too painful, they’re eating out the 
infection.”

“Bellamy I can’t deal with your voodoo right now.”

“You don’t have to deal, my man. You just have to get ‘em in there. Boyd, he’ll understand 
bayou medicine. Bayou magic. Boyd’s one of us, he’ll get it.”

“Boyd couldn’t be whiter if he were rice.”

“That means nothing, when it comes to the magic, Brian. It’s all on the inside. Remember. One 
goes left, one goes right and in two hours, you bring them back to me. Be careful not to break 
them when you place them or when you pull them out. What do you have to lose? What good are 
these conventional doctors doing right now?”

“What if they contaminate his environment?”

“We’ll double bag them in latex gloves if that scares you, man. It can’t interfere. Go get me 
some.”

They were easy enough for Brian to retrieve. There were boxes of them in the staging area of the 
critical care area. He knew how ridiculous it was, but Bellamy was right. What did they have to 
lose? His only concern was smuggling them into the room and slipping them under the mattress. 
Together, they put them inside a glove and then another, tying both off tightly. While they 
looked like prehistoric eggs before, cloaked inside the latex, they resembled lumpy chocolate 
Easter eggs. Brian tucked them in the drawstring waist of his pants. “This is insane,” he 
complained as Bellamy walked out with him.

“Tell Boyd I’m praying for him.”

“Which is it? Voodoo or Christianity?”

Bellamy smiled. “It’s all part of the same continuum, Brian. It’s all part of the Big Nature.”

“I’ll take any help I can get right now,” Brian said with a defeated sigh, as he went back in to re-
suit. 

When they were alone, he felt like Boyd was worse than before. Every time they messed with his 
legs, he seemed to decline. He wasn’t sure if it was the pain or shifting the toxins or what, but he 
always seemed a little weaker later. He knew they were getting close to the time they would have 
to make the hard call. Boyd couldn’t take much more of this. He took his hand and Boyd’s eyes 
fluttered open. He managed a smile. Brian looked at the glass wall and carefully withdrew one of 
the gloved items. He held it low so Boyd could see it, but his bed would block the others. 

“Bellamy made it,” he said in a low voice, in case they intruded on the intercom. “He said to put 
one under each side of your mattress. This one is going in now.” Brian pushed it in so far that the 
staff would have to be looking for it to find it, even if they changed the sheets. He remembered 
where it was so it could be retrieved. “He said it’s bayou medicine. He said you’ll feel a little 
picking sensation in your legs when it starts to work. He said that will be the…thing…eating the 
disease. He said you’d understand.”

Boyd met his lover’s eyes. He knew how frightened Brian had to be in order to even consider 
doing this as a last ditch attempt at helping him. He knew how desperate he must feel. Right now 
Boyd felt more tired than desperate, more exhausted than scared. “Do it,” he said. 

Brian went around to the other side of the bed. His body blocked the view from the glass. He 
slipped it in and when a voice said, “Mr. Kinney, what are you doing?”

He answered, “I’m just trying to make him more comfortable,” he tucked at the sheet as if 
straightening it. She replied,

“Please don’t. You’re impeding our view. Please just sit in the chair and don’t touch anything.”

“Right,” Brian thought to himself. “I won’t do anything but put some fucking voodoo curse in 
his mattress, that okay with you?” He said nothing, walking back to his chair, and taking Boyd’s 
hand between his. 

“Done.”

“Nice of Bellamy to help.”

“He said you’d understand,” Brian repeated, worried about what he had just done. Boyd smiled. 

“I do.”

“Okay, then.”

“Tell me some more about your tenth grade soccer showdown with the fancy ass boy’s school.” 
Brian was telling him anything he could think of to distract him. He went back to this anecdote. 
Midway through, he noticed Boyd grimaced and shifted his hips slightly. 

“Are you in pain?”

“It’s what he said,” Boyd repeated. “It’s like ants crawling over my legs, nipping at them.”

“It hurts?” Brian began to panic, picturing where the eggs were placed so he could withdraw 
them. It had been less than an hour, not two. 

“No, it’s not pain so much as…I don’t know. An odd sensation. Like someone tapping you with 
fingernails.”

“I’ll take them out, those fucking eggs.”

“No,” Boyd grabbed his wrist. “Leave them. Go on. Talk about soccer.”

Brian did so, keeping a careful watch on Boyd. An hour and fifteen minutes into the placement, 
sweat was drenching Boyd as fast as Brian could towel it off. He kept checking the temperature 
reading on the screen, to see if he was spiking, but his temperature was holding at 102. Brian 
asked for more towels, the nurse came in to check on him and adjusted his fluids. They decided 
since his temperature was steady, they weren’t treating this symptom as alarming. At one point, 
Brian turned Boyd’s pillow over so the wet side was down. One hour and a half into the time, the 
sweating stopped, but Boyd said the picking sensation was even more intense, rapid, asking 
Brian if he couldn’t hear the clickety-click of the picks. Brian heard nothing and worried that 
Boyd was hallucinating, but otherwise he was coherent. One hour and fifty-seven minutes into 
the time, Boyd said, “It stopped.”

“What did?”

“The picking.” His temperature was down a degree. “Now, they just feel throbbing, hot.” Brian 
carefully removed the eggs, slipping the glove containers up his sleeves for maximum speed. He 
would tuck them in his waistband on the way out. It was time for the specialist who dealt with 
infectious wounds to check on Boyd, and Brian took that moment to escape with the eggs. He 
nodded to Bellamy in the waiting room and Bellamy joined him in the john. Brian pulled the 
packages out of his waistband and handed them to Bellamy, who laid the gloves on the counter. 
Using a Swiss Army knife, he slit open the latex. He carefully removed one egg and then the 
other as Brian said, “Why are they so much heavier than when I placed them under the 
mattress?”

Bellamy was carefully chipping off the hard shell mud covering. Underneath was a normal 
looking white egg. He cracked it over the sink and Brian gasped and stepped back as a yellow-
green ooze flowed from the two halves of the eggshell, mixed with blood. The infectious sap 
bore exactly the same sick scent that had permeated Boyd’s room. “What the fuck?” Brian 
demanded as Bellamy checked the contents of the other egg, which was equally disgusting. He 
flushed both down the toilet before scrubbing his hands and his knife in antibacterial soap and 
hot water. “It’s working,” he said. “It’s pulling the disease right out of him.”

“This is not happening.”

“You can’t understand everything in life, Brian. None of us do. But you can believe,” he took 
fresh mud encased eggs, identical to the first two, from the bag and wrapped them in gloves, just 
as before. “In the open world, we’d put the eggs in a bowl on the bed with the person. Here, we 
have to hide it from the man. We can’t pray at his bedside, but we can pray for him nearby. It 
seems to be enough.”

“Who is we?”

“Homer and me. I consulted with Pearl on what ingredients I needed in the mud. Do the same 
thing with these two, Brian. Same length of time.”

“I don’t believe in this shit, Bell.”

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, Brian,” he said with a grin. “So long as Boyd does.”

Packed with fresh eggs, Brian paused to speak with the doctor before going in again. “Well? Is 
he holding his own?”

“I don’t want to create any false hope, Mr. Kinney, but he seems to be improving slightly. I can 
feel a pulse in his right foot that wasn’t there before and his temperature is down a bit. Way too 
early to call a victory, but cautiously optimistic is my current view. No surgery yet. I’ll be by 
again in two hours, sooner if he needs me.”

“Doctor, what could be causing the change?”

“I presume the antibiotics are taking hold, or perhaps an embolism cleared in his vascular 
system. As I said, too soon to say. With these kind of injuries, in an hour, his condition could 
turn grave.”

“Maybe it’s magic,” Brian said with a smile as the doctor gave him that look reserved for those 
who have been overcome by stress and fear. He squeezed his shoulder and left the area as Brian 
prepared to go in again and place his latest offerings.
Current Mood: confused
 
04:21 am - BURN, Chapter 97
Here's the latest, Burniacs, for Big B. Verrrry interesting! Ran



For twelve hours, Brian and Bellamy played bait and switch with the eggs. Each time, the 
contents of the eggs displayed the same foul infection when broken, and Boyd’s condition 
continued to improve. The improvement was not dramatic, but his fever was down and no one 
was talking about amputation. Brian thought he even slept more naturally, not just with the 
sledgehammer of morphine to knock him out. 

“You’re exhausted, man,” Bellamy said to him as they concluded the latest breaking of the eggs 
into the sink. Brian expressed alarm over the fact the contents seemed so bloody this time. 

“I’m okay,” he assured Bellamy. “I feel like the devil’s apprentice.”

Bellamy laughed as he disposed of the mess and washed up. “Nothing to do with the devil.”

“Give me the new eggs.”

“No more eggs.”

Brian looked startled. “What do you mean? Have to have the eggs!” He reached for the bag and 
pulled one out at random, waving it at Bellamy, who remained cool. “Put it in the glove, say 
whatever you say over it.”

“Done their job, Brian. The blood shows me that. It’s up to Boyd, now.”

“You can’t give up on him now!”

Bellamy turned and grasped Brian’s arms in a tight grip. “No one’s giving up on Boyd. But 
medicine, any form of medicine, can only go so far. The person has to fight, the body has to heal 
itself. This was to give Boyd that chance, to neutralize the worst of it and let his body do its 
work. It did that. It can’t do the rest. He has to do it himself.”

“But the eggs give him hope, if nothing else. Can’t we use them just for that?”

“No,” Bellamy released him as he shook his head. “They’re heavy mojo. They keep eating away 
at him after the infection is cleared and they start doing more harm than good. You tell him that. 
You explain.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I can’t tell you that, Brian. I can’t read the future that way. It just hits me, I can’t summon it. I 
will tell you I haven’t had those dark feelings I often get when death is walking with us. Not for 
hours.” 

Brian played a hunch and slapped the mud shell on the edge of the counter. When it fell away 
from the egg, he cracked the oval into the sink. It looked like the content of every other egg he 
had seen before today. A slimy, clear white coupled with a globular yellow center. He cracked 
another. Same result. He looked over at Bellamy, who let him do it. “They’re just eggs.”

“Of course they are. You can’t see the power.”

“How does that goo get in them?”

Bellamy shrugged. “The unseen world is a mysterious place.”

“Is that it? That’s all you can say?”

“What do you need me to say, Brian? I’m just a grounding tool for the force. The force is in 
nature, in Boyd, in all of us.”

Brian sighed as he boosted himself up to sit on the edge of the counter. He rubbed his hands 
across his face. “No one should have to go through the pain and suffering Boyd has been 
through. No one. And think of Lisette and the others who were killed. Who would do a thing like 
this? Why? Is anyone claiming responsibility? Do the police know anything?”

“All my contacts can tell me is that it was explosive devices, more than one, set by someone who 
understands that kind of thing.”

“That narrows it down. Not.”

Bellamy shrugged. “It’s still early.”

Brian shook his head. “What about Oleg?”

“I stay away from Oleg. A man in public life doesn’t need to be talking to Oleg. But speaking of 
that person, he seems to be macking on your sister Claire.”

Brian looked surprised. He had almost forgotten Claire was here. Time passage was so twisted in 
a room of pain, without windows. “I hardly think Claire is the flashy type to attract a gangster.”

“You think Petra is flashy? Maybe he goes for something other than flash. I’m just saying. I 
wouldn’t want him macking on my sister, if I had one.”

Brian wanted to laugh at the idea of Oleg and Claire, but instead, he could only shrug. “I’m not 
dealing with that. Claire’s a sensible person, and a grown up. I have to get back to Boyd.”

“Brian, you need to sleep.”

“I can doze in the chair while he sleeps. I’m fine. Hey, witchdoctor. Thanks,” he offered his hand 
and Bellamy smiled as he shook it. 

“I have to go back to New Orleans today. I have a job. But I’ll be staying in touch.”

Brian was worried about Bellamy leaving and taking his heavy magic with him, but he couldn’t 
ask him to stay. Bellamy read his expression. “I’ve done what I can do, Brian. I’m hopeful. You 
be, too. And if you need me, call. It’s a short flight.”

“Are you all flying back with Lindsay and the kids?”

“They flew back yesterday.”

“Jesus, I’ve lost all track of time.”

“I’m flying back with Charles and Moody. Charles chartered a plane. Ted, Daphne and Frank 
will be here. Homer’s staying. That witch of a sister of Boyd’s flew back this morning. Of course 
Petra and your sister are here.”

“I’ll go out and talk to people before I join Boyd. I’ve presumed you’ve told them what’s up.”

“I have,” he shared a conspiratorial smile with Brian. “Well, some but not all of it.”

When Brian walked into the waiting room, he read how bad he looked by the expressions on the 
faces that looked up at him. “Everyone take a break. Claire, just get a room at the Four Seasons, 
where we’re staying. Daphne, arrange it, and make sure you extend our suite, and also Petra’s. I 
know some of you are flying back today. Ted, I want you and Frank to go, too. Keep the crews 
working, get the club finished. So much going on there. Daphne, I’d like you to stay, if you can. 
Move to the hotel and get Homer a room there, too.”

“I got me a room at the Marriott,” Homer spoke up. “I don’t need no Four Seasons jumped up 
rates.”

“My treat,” Brian said but Homer shook his head.

“Here on my own dime, Mr. Brian. And the Marriott suits me fine.”

Brian smiled. “Whatever you say, Homer. So everyone disperse. Get some rest.” He glanced at 
Oleg, who was seated beside Claire. “Everyone.” How could Oleg look so cool, so rested, as if 
he had only been there an hour or so?

“I go when Petra tells me to go,” Oleg said, and Brian knew better than to argue with him. Petra 
was still checking on Boyd hourly, and each hour was taking a toll on her. 

“Brian, you need to crash,” his sister said. “You won’t help Boyd if you collapse.”

“I’m fine. I couldn’t rest away from him anyway. Okay, well as you know, he’s somewhat better. 
Still has his leg. The doctors are not quite as dour about his chances. Thanks for your support. I 
have to get back to him.” He paused. “Claire? Can I talk to you alone for a minute?”

She walked up to him and he led her down the corridor and then stopped. “You do realize Oleg is 
Russian Mafia, right?”

“He says he deals in Eastern artifacts, that he’s an importer.”

“Yeah, like the Corleone family imported olive oil. No doubt he has that business. But the fact is, 
he’s Russian Mafia.”

She shrugged. “I have to admit, I thought it was something like that. I don’t understand why he’s 
still married to Petra. Do you?”

Brian sighed and combed through his hair with his fingers. “The point is, Oleg is a good man to 
stay the fuck away from.”

“Brian, he’s a charming, pleasant, interesting man. He’s just passing the time with me because 
there’s nothing else to do. It’s not as if he’s my boyfriend,” she giggled at that image. “But it’s 
sweet that you’d be concerned.”

He glared at her. “Okay, I said what I had to say. I’m done. Need to get back to Boyd.”

“Please get some rest. And you need to eat.”

Brian had been around the evil byproducts of the human body enough that day that his appetite 
was gone. “Later.”

He returned to the staging area, scrubbed up, suited, and went back to Boyd’s room. The nurse 
was just leaving. She said, “He’s amazing.”

“Little do you know,” Brian answered with a smile. “Little do you know.”

***

When Luann returned to the bayou, the black wreath was already up on the gates leading to the 
plantation house. She rolled her eyes at the tradition, and was on her way to her suite, when her 
mother called out to her from the morning room on the second landing. Luann froze.

“Luann, come join me, dear.”

She entered the cheerfully chintz room and saw her mother, who had recently had her hair done, 
in order to greet those wanting to offer their condolences with the right appearance. She wore a 
simple black sheath and a string of priceless Tahitian pearls. “Sit down, dear, you must be tired 
from all that travel. The tea is fresh. Let me pour you a cup.”

“I’d rather take a shower and change, Mother.”

“Sit down,” she repeated softly but with a tight smile that allowed no room for negotiation. 
Luann sighed and obeyed. 

“How is Daddy taking it?” She asked as she took the fragile bone china cup from her mother’s 
steady hand.

“Just as you would expect. The doctor was by to give him some calming pills. And where are the 
children?”

“I told you on the phone, Mother,” she said with an edge of irritation. “They’re at Boyd’s home 
with their nanny and the mother of Brian’s child and Madam.”

“Yes, you did tell me that. And here I thought the Dhues worked for us.”

“I thought we agreed it looked good for the family that we had Madam there to help with the 
children.”

“What would look good for the family would be if we had the children here, with us. Where they 
belong.”

“I told you, Mother, the lawyer said unless Boyd was declared mentally incompetent or his 
parental rights were terminated by the court, he still has the right to decide what is done with his 
own children. We can’t exactly claim he’s endangering them, now can we?”

“Sister, you need to remove that little sharpness from your tone when you speak to me,” her 
mother said with cool calm. “Now let’s review. Out of this whole fiasco, the only permanent 
outcome is that Lisette was killed. Boyd is just as likely to live as he is to die. That man in his 
life was not even badly hurt. The children are not under our control, because Boyd is still 
sensate. That upstart politician was uninjured, and a bunch of meaningless strangers and some 
useless art were destroyed in a very grandiose way. What am I missing?”

Luann glared at her mother. “Boyd is hanging on by a toenail, Mother. I couldn’t do anything 
about his medical care because he signed a medical power of attorney over to Brian before all 
this happened. And anyway, he was still able to make his own calls about his care. His brain isn’t 
impaired. But even if he does live, he’ll probably lose at least one leg. You think pretty boy is 
going to hang around once Boyd gets chopped up? And you think Boyd is going to care what 
happens to this business of ours or to national politics when he’s worried about how to get out of 
bed in order to take a shit?”

“There’s no need to be coarse, Luann. I think you’re supposing a lot. And I think you’re 
supposing a lot because you know you failed. Spectacularly. You had everything at your 
disposal. It was the ideal situation to solve all of our problems at once and you couldn’t deliver a 
result. I’m sure Lisette, a lawyer, mind you, has made arrangements for her shares to go either to 
Boyd, his children or to that Russian woman. Boyd lives, still has his shares, and the proxies of 
his children. What do we have? We have a disaster is what we have. Financial ruin is looming, 
and possible public humiliation of your father and the rest of us. You already lost your man to 
those people. Do you want to lose everything? You want to live in some boarding house, slinging 
hash to pay the rent?”

Luann rolled her eyes. “Mother, I hardly think I’d be in some boarding house. It’s not as though 
we don’t have a fortune.”

“And how quickly will that fortune dwindle when the government investigates this or that and 
the employees sue us over some kind of impropriety, and the local economy collapses under your 
brother’s ruinous schemes? How much do you think it will cost us when that happens? We stand 
to lose it all, Sister.”

“What do you want from me? I did exactly what you told me to do. I talked to the people you 
directed me to. How is it my fault they failed?”

“It’s your fault because you were in charge, Luann. If you can’t run this operation, how do you 
think you can run the family business?”

“What do you want from me?”

Her mother refreshed their tea from the heavy Georgian silver teapot. “I want you to finish what 
you started. I want the job done.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

Her mother’s blue eyes were as cold as the North Atlantic as she steadied them on Luann’s pretty 
face. “Use your imagination, Sister. Use your cunning. Just get it finished. Now, let’s talk about 
other things. What is the disposition of Lisette’s remains?”

Luann sighed as she leaned back on the cushions of the couch, realizing her mother wouldn’t like 
this either.

***

Oleg sat at the foot of Petra’s bed, watching her sleep. She was restless, dreaming perhaps, but 
not a happy dream. She awoke suddenly and sat up, blinking at him. A long stemmed red rose 
had been placed on her blanket. She lifted it and stared at him, as if for explanation. He smiled.

“First time I saw you, you were seven years old, standing on the grand terrace of the Peterhof. 
You wore a crown made of tin foil, your hair was wild, your knees were skinned and bloody and 
you had a bit of white sheet tied at your neck like a robe. You held a long stemmed red rose as if 
it were your scepter. Stolen from the Tsar’s gardens.”

Petra smiled. “Not stolen. My father was groundskeeper at the Peterhof, as you know. The rose 
was broken from the bush by the wind and he gave it to me.”

“I asked if you were the Tsarina and you said, ‘Not the Tsarina, the Tsar!’ You weren’t playing 
second fiddle, even then.”

“I remember Oleg.”

“I knew then I would marry you one day.”

“So you say now. I doubt a nine year old boy makes that decision, especially about a scrawny 
little girl such as myself.”

“Scrawny, yes, but magical. Even then.”

“And here we are.”

“Yes. Here we are. I wanted to give you a world to rule, but instead I couldn’t even give you 
happiness.”

“Oleg, I am the way I am. It’s nothing to do with you being insufficient or my rejecting you. It’s 
biological. But strangely enough, I might never have discovered my true self but for the fact you 
decided to take the easy way and that was something I could not live with.”

“Easy?” he chuckled and shook his head. “Nothing easy about it. I wanted money. I wanted 
power. I wanted that world to rule.”

“The underworld? What kind of life is that?”

“Nothing I gave you was ever enough for you, Petra.”

“I never wanted the things you could give me when they were paid for in blood.”

“And yet, here we are. At your service.”

She met his stare, reminded of a predatory bird. Oleg always had an eagle’s piercing stare in her 
mind’s eye. “I want to know the truth and the police may never find that out. What story they do 
give us could easily be a fall guy, a plant. I want to know who did it and you have the ability to 
find out things that police never will.”

“And when I do? What then? Have you thought about that?”

Petra smoothed her hair back with her hands. “I don’t know. Perhaps share the information with 
the police.”

“And how do you do that? You tell them what about your source?”

“I don’t know what I’ll do with the information, Oleg.”

He smiled. “Sure you do. You just don’t want to say it, because then the high and mighty healer 
has suddenly come down to my level. Suddenly what I do doesn’t look so bad to you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him in anger. “I’m not talking about extorting innocent people, 
succeeding through murder, ruling by terror. I’m not dealing in drugs and prostitution and 
gangs.”

“No. Just murder for hire.”

“You don’t want to help me? Then just go away!”

“But I do want to help you, Petra. I just want you to admit you’re a hypocrite.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slipped on her shoes. “Okay, I’m a hypocrite. Is 
that all you want?”

“You know what I want.”

“Don’t be a fool, Oleg. I just lost the one person in my life whom I truly loved, my soul mate, 
my partner. How can you even talk this nonsense to me at this time?”

He grabbed her arm and held tightly to it. “She’s gone, Petra. You’re still my wife. Your journey 
with her is over. You can go back to being a normal woman now that you’ve satisfied your 
curiosity.”

She pulled free and stood to face him. “I’d laugh if it were in me to do so. I’m a lesbian, Oleg. 
Yes, I love Lisette and she was my life partner. But losing her doesn’t make me any less a 
lesbian than I was a week ago. Or a month from now. When will you accept the truth? I was 
never your wife, never. Only in name.”

“That’s shit. It’s not like we never fucked.”

“Yes, we fucked. And I even liked it, most of the time. But that’s a physical act, Oleg. My heart, 
my being, was never in it. My fantasies were never about men. My desires were always women. 
Please stop this silliness and face what you married. You’re in this country now. You’re 
naturalized. Until you ruin it by getting caught doing what you do and deported, you’re safe. And 
if you do get caught, being married to me changes nothing, they’ll still deport you. So end this 
charade.”

“Never. I told you. Never.”

She sighed. “Lisette used to say it didn’t matter, it was just a paper union. She never minded it. 
But I do. I mind it now more than before. When I was with her, I was married only to her. Now, 
she’s gone and I feel the choke hold tighten. Let me go.”

“You told me if I allowed you to live your life unharmed, and the people in your life were also 
unharmed and I stayed out of your way, you would never divorce me.”

“I won’t. But you can divorce me.”

“Never.”

“Then you’re hiding behind me, Oleg. Ask yourself why? Now, I need to check on Boyd.”

He watched her go, his ancient frustration rising as he crushed the red rose in his fist, watching 
the petals seep between his fingers like blood.
Current Mood: determined
 
 
02:08 pm - BURN, Chapter 98


Boyd was on that ship again, but Venice wasn’t outside the veranda of his suite. 
Instead, the whitewashed villas of a Greek isle glistened in the sun. They were 
moored in the palest aqua sea he had ever seen. White gulls dipped and cawed, 
kiting on the breeze. He was stretched out on a chaise and Brian came from 
inside. He was naked, still glistening from a shower. The water beaded on his 
perfect skin, that was bronzed by the sun except for a white band where his small 
Speedo had covered his crotch. 

He leaned on the polished teak of the railing, one knee bent forward, his fine ass 
a silent beacon to his lover. Boyd wanted to lick the rivulet of water that 
followed the path down Brian’s spine, but he was too comfortable to move. Brian 
looked over his shoulder at him and said, “It doesn’t get any better than this.”

“I want to fuck you,” Boyd announced, causing Brian to grin.

“Maybe it does get better. Come and get it.”

Boyd tossed the blanket covering his lap onto the deck, but he couldn’t get up. 
He couldn’t walk over to his lover. He had no legs.

He woke with a gasp, startling Brian who reached over and grasped his hand. 
“You’re okay. Relax.”

The fucking hospital.

He looked down, but he could see nothing except the blanket covering the 
structure over his legs. “Did they cut it off?”

Brian shook his head. “No, Boyd, and they aren’t going to if you continue to 
improve. You’ve been asleep for hours.”

Obviously Brian had not been sleeping. He looked so tired. Boyd realized he 
wasn’t burning up on the inside, wasn’t nauseous, but his legs hurt like hell. A 
different kind of pain. This pain was deep in the bone. “Hurts.”

“From a one to ten, where would you put it?” Brian used the hospital pain scale. 
Boyd had been a ten-plus for so long they stopped asking. He thought about it 
and then said,

“Eight.”

“Right direction.”

“Eggs?”

“No. Bellamy said they did their job.”

Boyd nodded, not even questioning that edict. “Can I see Belle and Mac and 
Gus?”

“Baby, we sent them back to New Orleans. With Jane and Madam and Lindsay. 
You wanted them back in school, remember?”

Boyd turned to glance at the drawings taped to the glass wall, and then back at 
Brian. “I thought this was the same day.”

Brian shook his head. “Time has passed. Don’t worry about it. With each hour 
you get better.”

Petra joined them, pleased to find Boyd awake and alert. The nurse came in with 
her and administered pain medication, but not morphine. It didn’t work as well or 
as fast, but Boyd soon felt the edge slip from the worst of the pain. “Boyd, if you 
continue as you have, they are moving you to a private room this evening. This is 
wonderful news. There is still much healing to be done before your legs can be 
put into casts for the bones to mend, but your body has waged a stupendous war. 
We want to start you on liquids and soft foods.”

“Petra, I know I should be grateful that I still have both my legs and I am. But 
can you be honest with me about what the future holds? Will I walk again? What 
will my limitations be?”

“Of course you will, Boyd. Walk, dance, maybe even run a bit. Your baseball 
career is probably over, sliding into bases and the like is contraindicated. I don’t 
think skiing is in your future. But for the most part, with healing and therapy and 
time and luck, you’ll be back to full strength. You may have a slight limp and 
you’ll need a card to get through airport security with all that metal in you, but 
you’ll have a normal life.”

Brian closed his eyes. A normal life. A day or so ago, he thought they would 
have no life together at all. And then he thought they may have a life together but 
Boyd would be living it in a wheelchair. And now… the promise of something 
better made him feel weak. Boyd saw the look on his lover’s face and squeezed 
his hand. “Come on, Brian, I know you like to ski, but…”

“Not funny,” Brian shook his head and looked away, staring at the opposite wall. 
Petra came over and squeezed his shoulder. She cast a glare at Boyd.

“You haven’t gone through this alone, darling brother. This man has not left your 
side in days. He’s lived through every horror, every fear with you. He gave you 
strength when you had none. And now you must reassure him.”

Boyd sighed and reached for Brian. “Come here.”

Brian put his head down on Boyd’s shoulder, absorbing the normal heat of his 
skin, breathing in the scent of him that was now free of bacteria overload. Boyd 
found a twig of hair beneath Brian’s cap and twisted it gently. “I love you.”

Brian just nodded, slightly, his cheek rubbing against Boyd’s skin as Boyd said, 
“Thank you.”

Brian looked up into his eyes and they both knew what was being said without 
words. “Now do me a favor,” Boyd requested. 

“Anything.”

“Go to the hotel. Eat a meal. Go to bed. Come back when I’m in a real room and 
I can see your whole face.”

“No.”

“You promised.”

“But…”

“Please.”

Brian leaned back with a sigh. He was afraid to leave. He was afraid to break this 
chain of healing. Petra chimed in. “He’s right. Go.”

“And you?”

“I’ve been resting in quarters. I’ll call you when he’s in a room or if there’s any 
change, Brian. I promise. Now go.”

He kissed Boyd’s forehead through his mask and squeezed his hand before 
reluctantly leaving the room. He watched him through the glass for a moment 
longer, and then went to the staging area to disrobe. 

“Are you doing okay?” Boyd asked Petra who smiled.

“I have my moments.”

“Who did this?”

“They don’t know yet.”

Boyd shook his head. “Hell is too good for them.”

“Yes, darling,” she said with a sigh. “But hell is just what they will get.” 

***

Brian was dreaming.

He was seated next to Boyd at a World Cup match. The stadium was packed with 
fans. The teams were both naked. Twenty-two beautiful, hard-bodied young 
athletes, running up and down the pitch in the buff. Boyd said, “I’m praying for 
overtime.”

Brian woke up in utter darkness in his hotel room. He had a hard on and the 
feeling of unfinished business. He wrapped his hard cock in his fist, recalling 
images of naked men running and soon his warm cum blasted over his pumping 
fingers. The jizz arched and landed with a splat against his pectorals, a string of 
pearls glistening at the point of his chin. As the pleasure faded, he frowned. He 
should be ashamed of getting himself off when Boyd was in such jeopardy, 
but…he knew Boyd wouldn’t mind. He’d like it, in fact, and would want details 
about the dream. And then they would fuck. 

Brian wiped off on discarded clothes he retrieved from the floor, and then pulled 
a pillow close to his body. He missed the physical presence of his lover in his 
bed. Boyd’s skin, Boyd’s scent, Boyd’s taste. He needed to get up, to shower, to 
eat, to check on Boyd, but before he could do any of those things, he fell asleep 
again, and this time no dreams interrupted his rest. 

The second time he awoke, it was still dark, and then he remembered he closed 
the blackout shades, so it could be any hour. He glanced at the clock. Ten. A.m, 
or p.m.? He sat up, stretched, stumbled to the bathroom and took a long piss. 
After starting the shower, he leaned over the sink to stare at his image. What a 
mess. He needed a shave. He needed nourishment. He needed to see Boyd. 

Showered, shaved, dressed, he walked out into the main room of the suite to a 
flood of sunshine. He ordered a full breakfast and then called Petra’s mobile 
number. She sounded a little groggy. “Did I wake you?”

“Not sure, maybe.”

He smiled. Obviously. “They haven’t moved him?”

“They did, Brian. Last night.”

“But you never called me!”

“He insisted I let you rest and frankly, the move took a toll on him. It was 
painful, so he was drugged up and soon fell asleep himself.”

“Any change?”

“Nothing but good.”

“Where are you?”

“Once he was settled, I came to the hotel to shower and change clothes and yet I 
just couldn’t stay in…our…room. Claire was nice enough to share with me. I 
didn’t want to be alone. Your sister is a sweetheart.”

Brian was still adjusting to that possibility. “I just ordered breakfast. Want to join 
me? I’ll make it for two.”

“Yes, but I look like hell.”

“Like I give a shit.”

He revised his order. Petra came down, fresh from a shower, her hair wet, her 
small form engulfed in the terrycloth robe provided by the hotel. One size 
definitely did not fit all. They hugged in greeting and the food arrived almost 
immediately. Both of them were suddenly ravenous. As they stuffed themselves, 
she said, “I had a message from Boyd’s primary physician. Boyd slept through 
the night and this morning he ate cream of wheat, hot tea and toast.”

“Did he keep it down?”

“He did.”

Brian smiled. “What’s next?”

“Once they feel confident that they have the infection defeated, they’ll put him in 
plaster. Two broken legs is problematical, Brian. There’s no crutching on two 
broken legs. He’ll be in a wheelchair. And he’ll lose muscle tone and flexibility 
from this lack of use, which will complicate his eventual physical therapy. But 
when he’s in a cast, he can go home. You need to think about that. Get a practical 
nurse. I know you love him and you want to care for him, but that’s a stress you 
don’t have to assume and I believe Boyd would rather have the dignity of a 
nurse, rather than you, tending to his daily needs. You’re his romantic partner, 
after all. He can certainly afford twenty-four hour care and I can find the right 
person for you. Your construction people can build the ramps he’ll need in this 
interim period. I suggest he buy a wheelchair capable van and when he’s done 
with it, he can kindly donate it to a needy family who can’t afford one of their 
own.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“What is?”

“All of that. Except the nurse. I can take care of him.”

She smiled. “I know, but don’t. Take care of his emotional needs, let the nurse 
care for the rest, his bathing, the casts, all of it. And you have a job to pay some 
attention to, an opening.”

“I’ll think about it. Just the idea of being able to take Boyd home fills me with 
hope. I was so scared…well, you know.”

She reached over to squeeze his hand. “I do know. But God smiled.”

“God needs to smile more often.”

***

Bellamy and Pearl were having lunch at a small restaurant featuring down home 
cooking that was located on the other side of Rampart. After he caught her up on 
the status of everyone, he said, “I know it’s said you have to walk on the other 
side of the street from the darker lure of this gift, or the bad winds come back at 
you with triple strength. But Pearl…I want to hurt someone bad.”

She smiled and leaned back with a nod. “I understand that, Bellamy. Won’t be 
the last time.”

“What do I do about those feelings?”

“You overcome them.”

“How?”

“With your strength of character.”

“What if I don’t want to overcome them?”

“All the more reason to do so.”

“What if I just give the job to someone else? We both know people with a lot of 
power.”

“Then they’ll have power over you.”

He frowned and pushed at his hot peach cobbler with the tines of his fork. The 
ice cream had melted and formed a soft layer of white above the dessert. He 
knew she was right, but revenge would taste a lot sweeter than this cobbler to 
him at that moment. “I know who’s responsible.”

“So do I, Bell.”

“Does Homer?”

“I doubt it. Homer’s gift was never all that strong.”

“How do people do things like this?”

“Greed, pride, power. Nothing new about that.”

His green eyes held her gaze. “We may not see things the same way, Mother, but 
I’d never harm you.”

She smiled. “I know that, Bellamy.”

“How could…?” He shook his head, unable to finish that thought.

“You’re not safe. You need to think about protecting yourself.”

“Why am I not safe? I wasn’t the target.”

“You were one of them. I felt danger around you, but not at you. I knew you’d be 
all right. But it’s not gone, not yet, and your luck may not continue to hold.”

“Why would they want me?”

“Power, Bellamy. Political power feeds directly into greed. I’m sure the Senator 
Pawn they use has whined about feeling pushed by you.”

“Is there no forgiveness given to a man who uses what he has to protect 
himself?”

“I don’t control the karmic fates, Bellamy. They do what they will. The choices 
you make are your own.”

“That’s spectacularly unhelpful, Mother.”

“I have nothing else to offer on that subject.”

“Why Brian and Boyd?”

“Why what?”

“Why did they strike such a chord with you?”

“Love.”

“What about it?”

“They’re a very pure manifestation of love. I find that cleansing and reinforcing, 
a life energy.”

“Some people find their love twisted and perverse.”

“Yes,” she swept her cloud of ebony curls behind her shoulders. “And some 
people find our kind to be witches and demons and black magic practitioners. It’s 
all about perception.”

“How does one know if he’s found that kind of love?”

“There can be no doubt when you do.”

He nodded, leaning back, refusing to look at her. She smiled and leaned over to 
take his hand, forcing a connection. “So, mon cher, are you wondering if you’ve 
become victim to the vagaries of love?”

“Don’t go there, Pearl.”

She smiled and slipped a thin black bracelet from her wrist. It was made of 
braided leather held with a silver clasp. “Wear this. It’s a protective talisman.”

“I don’t need that.”

“I need for you to wear it. It would give me peace.”

Bellamy reluctantly slipped it on his wrist, and then said, “I should get you back 
to your hotel. I have meetings all afternoon.”

Pearl stood, and then suddenly looked trancelike, staring past him into space. He 
watched her, but didn’t interfere. When she emerged from her trance, he asked, 
“What was it?”

“The spirits are not at peace. Their lives weren’t lived. They’re angry and they 
want recompense.”

“What spirits?”

“You know the ones.”

He frowned. “I don’t feel anything.”

“You will,” she warned him. “And when you do? Call me.”

He nodded, as if she had just said the kind of things mothers say to sons every 
day.
Current Mood: pensive
 
06:19 am - BURN, Chapter 99


“Eat it,” Brian said to Boyd as if urging a recalcitrant child. Boyd stared at the chicken and 
noodles in a bowl on his tray and winced. 

“I’m not eating it. You eat it.”

“Why should I eat it? I’m not the one on a special diet.”

“I want real food.”

“Like?”

“Can Madam make me some chicken and dumplings?”

“Sure. Except she’s in New Orleans with the kids.”

Boyd stared at his lover and they both smiled. “We’re back to normal. Sarcastic and bitchy.”

“Nice, isn’t it?” Brian leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Now eat.”

Boyd glared, but took a bite of his entrée and then another. He ate the vanilla pudding, but left 
the rest untouched. “Have you seen my legs?”

Brian was surprised by the question. “Not since…can’t remember…why?”

Boyd laughed at his discomfort. “It’s okay. Don’t try to spare me. I looked at them today.”

“And?”

“They look like someone took after them with a meat cleaver. I’ll never model for Speedo.”

“Let me tell you something. If we can now worry about the cosmetic aspects of your legs, we’ve 
won. Not too long ago one of those legs was about to become dust in a bottle beside your bed.”

Boyd considered that and smiled. “You’re right. Vanity does seem ludicrous at this point, 
doesn’t it?”

“We can’t help who we are,” Brian teased, causing Boyd to chuckle.

“Thanks for making that plural. They’re going to cast me at the end of the week if all goes well.”

“You make it sound like you’re up for a role in ‘Gone With the Wind’. We are in Atlanta, after 
all.”

Boyd let that one pass. “After I’m in plaster, I can go home.”

“Yeah.”

“Scared?”

Brian shrugged. “No skin off my knees. I’m hiring a nurse.”

“I don’t need a nurse.”

“I need a nurse.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I have a job, I have shit to do, and I’m not the nurturing type.”

“You are the most nurturing person I know.”

“That’s just sad.”

They both laughed. “Seriously, why do I need a nurse? I broke my leg skiing in the tenth grade 
and I got along fine on my own.”

Brian sighed. “Ever broke both legs, Boyd? Been in a cast up to here? Had extensive surgery, 
grafts, compartment syndrome, sepsis, and almost died from it? No. You’ll be in a chair, 
Ironsides. You’re getting a nurse. I already have Lindsay and Madam interviewing people.”

“In that case I want a hot guy.”

Brian narrowed his eyes at his lover. “She will be old and fat. End of story.”

“You have a cruel streak, you know that?”

“You think?”

The nurse arrived and said, “I’m going to take your tray and then I’ll be back to give you 
something to help you sleep, Mr. Coulter. You have to rest.” Her look at Brian was 
communicating a message he chose not to receive.

“I’m staying,” he said firmly. When Boyd tried to protest, Brian stopped him. “I slept. I’m not 
tired now. I have nowhere to go, so shut up. I’ll watch ESPN, with the sound off. You sleep.”

When they were alone, Boyd said, “I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

“I think the hoodoo came from Bell.”

“It wasn’t just the hoodoo, Brian. It was the knowledge that you were here, drawing strength 
from you, wanting to live so we could have our life back. I can’t tell you how much all that 
means when you’re so sick and in so much pain that you wonder if it’s worth it. It is. With you in 
my life.”

Brian smiled and leaned over to kiss him. “You get all mushy when buildings fall on you.”

“Smushy, maybe.” Boyd sighed. “Lisette…”

“Stop. Nothing you can do there. Petra wants to delay any memorial service until you can 
attend.”

He nodded. “Lis was my strong support in the family, Brian, as well as my best friend. I don’t 
know how I can get through this without her. The family will be all over me to step down, now.”

“Okay, look. I know it’s going to be terrible to adjust to the loss of Lisette on a personal level. 
Hell, it’s hard for me. As for the rest of that shit, put it away for now. It’s just sugar. It’s going 
nowhere.”

Boyd sighed. Just sugar. He was so close, almost there. He didn’t want to quit now. He had 
people, hell, a town relying on him to save their ass from Dr. Sugar. But he knew better than to 
argue with Brian tonight. The nurse took away his temptation by giving him a small pill in a cup 
that would soon bring sleep. It worked almost immediately. The last thing he saw was Brian 
seated beside his bed, his long legs spread out in front of him as he held Boyd’s hand and 
watched a football game on television. That was a nice image to take into his dreams, much 
sweeter than sugar.

***

“I reckon I’ll stay here with Boyd and help Brian get him home,” Homer said to Boyd’s mother 
from his cell phone. He was at the Marriott, finally feeling he was able to have a rest without 
letting anyone down.

“Homer, I was under the impression that you and your wife were in the employ of this 
household.”

“Yes, ma’am, long as I can remember. And to Mr. Coulter’s father before him, when I was just a 
boy.”

“You’re needed here. Last I heard, you had no medical qualifications. Boyd is getting the care he 
requires. I need your help with my husband. You know he doesn’t get on with that nurse we 
hired, and Rosa can’t cook the way Madam can, the poor thing. I think it’s time you two came 
back where you belong.”

“It gives Boyd peace of mind to know his children have Madam there with them. And it gives 
me peace of mind to see that Boyd is being looked after. I guess you could say this is a little 
vacation, Mrs. Coulter. Haven’t had one since I don’t know when.”

“I think you’d better just come on back, Homer, and bring your wife with you.” She assumed the 
close. Homer smiled.

“I don’t think that’s something I can do.”

“You don’t understand. I’m telling you to come home. Now.” The starch came into her voice.

“And I’m saying I can’t do that until I get your son settled.”

“I don’t understand why you suddenly feel Boyd is your responsibility!”

“Because someone in the family should be here with him and I’m guessing that’s me.”

“You’re not his family, Homer. You’re the help.”

“Mrs. Coulter, you’re right. To you, I am the help. To Boyd, I’m family. And that’s why, 
respectfully, I’m staying with the boy.”

He let the silence stretch. “What are you telling me, Homer? You quit? Who’s going to support 
your wife and yourself if you quit?”

“Well, now, I would probably put it another way, Mrs. Coulter. I think I would say, I’m choosing 
to retire.”

“Just like that? With no notice whatsoever? With my husband an invalid? You’d leave us in the 
lurch after all we’ve done for you?”

“No, ma’am. But if I have to choose, I reckon right now, Boyd and Brian needs me the most.”

“And what do you intend to live on?”

“I’ve had some generous financial gifts from time to time from your father-in- law and he did 
leave me and the woman some money when he died, as you may recall.” He paused to let her 
consider that bequest that was not well received by her husband or her, even though it was an 
insignificant sum given the extent of the old man’s wealth. “With Boyd’s counsel, I invested it 
wisely. My house is mine, no mortgage, my daughter’s on her own, we have enough to do what 
we please as long as we live and have some left over for the next generation. What more does a 
man need than that? Anything above that is just greed.”

Her voice turned to frost. “I believe you have one of our vehicles.”

“No ma’am, I don’t. I took my own vehicle to Atlanta. Your vehicle is in your garage with your 
other six vehicles. Look behind the Escalade.”

“Are you being mouthy with me?”

“Not on purpose.”

“You people know nothing about handling money. This will be a disaster for you, at your age. 
And don’t come to me when you’re broke.”

“I reckon that wouldn’t occur to me, Mrs. Coulter.”

“See that it doesn’t.” She hung up. Homer laughed as he laid back on his bed and phoned his 
wife. “I quit,” he said when she answered her cell phone. He heard her deep sigh.

“Praise the lord! Did you resign me too?”

“Whither I goest…”

“Wither you getting your black ass back to Louisiana?”

“When Boyd can travel.”

“How did the old woman take it?”

“Like you’d expect.”

“Bitch.”

Homer smiled. Madam never cursed. When she slipped, it was serious. “You got that right, 
Madam. How are the children?”

“Missing their daddy, but talking to him today helped a whole lot. How is he?”

“Getting better.”

“Homer…I miss your sorry ass.”

“Soon, girl, soon.”

He hung up with a smile on his face, feeling as if the weight had just been lifted. 

***

Bellamy was tired.

His eyes burned from reading in the low light of his darkened office. Outside, New Orleans had 
come alive with the jazzy nightlife that made it simmer. But inside the empty municipal building, 
there was nothing to jazz up his evening. He had missed the dinner hour and was hungry and 
irritable because of it. He knew a thousand places where he could stop at this hour and get a 
meal, but he didn’t want to go to any of them. He wondered if he still had gumbo in the freezer. 
He could nuke that, catch up on the news, and go to bed. Alone. He’d call Daphne in the 
morning, but right now, he needed some down time.

He packed his briefcase and flipped the light switch in his office, throwing it into darkness. A 
voice said, “Working late?”

He whirled around. The voice came from the sofa that was faced by his desk. No one was there 
when he turned off the light, but now, in darkness, he could see the substance of a woman seated 
there, in shadow. His hand scrambled along the wall, searching for the switch, but she warned, 
“Don’t. If you do, I won’t be here when the lights come on.”

He stopped, his heart racing as he squinted to identify a feature, but it was a hopeless act. The 
thin slivers of light that barred the wall from between the blinds only added mystery to her form. 
Her voice was familiar. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“You know who I am, and I want justice.”

He felt his way to his desk chair and sat down heavily, his strength vanishing. “L-Lisette?”

“How’s my brother?”

“He’s going to make it.”

“Thanks to Petra. Thanks to you.”

“Thanks to a lot of people. I’m sorry we couldn’t…”

She laughed, that throaty laugh that he remembered so well, so womanly and so sensual. Could a 
ghost be hot? “None of that matters now. What matters is, until you do something about those 
who caused this tragedy, I can’t rest. I’m not alone.”

“Who did it?”

She laughed again. “Who am I? Miss Marple? I can’t go out asking questions and following 
clues, Bellamy. No one can see me but people like you.”

“Petra?” 

“No, of course not. And you won’t mention it to her, now will you? It would only make her 
crazy. Let her believe I’ve moved on. Let Boyd believe it, too. But then do what you can to make 
that my reality…our reality.” He noticed other shadows had joined hers. Four, seven, ten, 
fourteen in all. He could feel the weight of their rage, their hopelessness.

“I don’t know what to do about this, Lisette. I don’t…practice.”

“You don’t have to practice, Bellamy. You’re already a master.”

“What is it you want from me?”

“Revenge.”

“But what will that do?”

“It will unbind our spirits from this netherworld we currently inhabit.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know how, but I know. Don’t you?” He didn’t respond. She said, “You’re the only one I 
know who can help us. Even if the police never find who did it, you can, and you can make them 
pay.”

“What power I do have, I can’t use in that way, Lisette.”

“Break a rule. They did.”

“I don’t know.”

“They missed you once, Seven Man, you and Boyd and Brian. They won’t miss you again. You 
want to be among us instead of working to release us?”

He frowned, but before he could say anything, they were gone. The office was empty again. He 
smelled the faint scent of expensive perfume and an underlying whiff of smoke, dust and terror. 
He turned on his desk lamp. The arc of light illuminated the couch where they had gathered. 
There was no sign they had been there. No indentation in the leather cushions where she sat, no 
sheen of dust, nothing. 

If not for the fact he knew who he was and believed in what he knew, he might have thought he 
was going crazy. What he didn’t know, was what his next move should be. Revenge wasn’t his 
style. Using his powers for pain, even pain inflicted on those who deserved to suffer, was 
something he had never done. Lisette believed they were after him as well as others he cared 
about. She was probably right. But why were they targets and who were the archers? 

“Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble…” he whispered as he left his office for real this time. 
Sometimes the only phrase that fit a situation came from Shakespeare.
Current Mood: confused
 
10:33 am - BURN, Chapter 100
Happy Century Mark Chapter, Burniacs, and Big B! Love, Ran (Special thanks to Heather for 
the TIME cover!)

***



“The place is lousy with cops, press, international attention, Petra. The feds are in it as well as 
locals. If anyone can find out who’s responsible for the bombing, they will. I have my sources, 
but I have no greater ability to suss out a killer than does half of the United States police 
organization.”

Oleg met her for a quiet off-site dinner in a restaurant near the hospital. Her fatigue was evident. 
She was pale and had lost weight that she couldn’t afford to lose. Stress oozed from her every 
gesture. “Are you giving up on me?”

He reached over to take her hand and held it tightly when she tried to pull away. “Stubborn little 
girl. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an unsavory character. They have nothing they can prove 
when it comes to my activities, but they know who I am and I’m always being watched, to one 
degree or another. Seeing my kind lingering near the hospital will draw attention and curiosity 
that I can ill afford and that will do your reputation no good. I want to protect you and those you 
care about, but even the most foolish of criminals wouldn’t try to do anything dire with cops 
crawling all over the place, like ants at a picnic.”

“I have no faith in the police.”

He laughed. “And I do? Here’s how it works, Petra. Let them do what they do and my sources 
will stay informed. If they find a responsible party, I can go from there. If not, I’ll keep looking. 
Who was their target, I wonder? The art? A person? People? If so, who? Queers? Blacks? 
Individuals?”

“I don’t know. But I have a sick suspicion that it was more personally directed than just 
destroying art.”

“No one has come forward to boast.”

“It’s a ridiculous target for some kind of international terrorism, Oleg. Jared’s art had no real 
political message. None that would interest the usual terrorist suspects.”

“They don’t like queers.”

“No one likes queers, we’re the easy foil for any political dogma. But their focus isn’t on 
homosexuality.”

“What about those people who kill abortion doctors and bomb those clinics? They are religious 
fanatics of another stripe.”

“Maybe, but does that seem logical? His art didn’t celebrate homosexuality. He just happened to 
be gay. The museum is full of gay artists. Could make a much greater statement by destroying da 
Vinci’s work, if that were the goal.”

“My people think it was a professional. A hired job. Very directed and perfectly executed.”

“I want to know who ordered it.”

“So do the FBI and half of the cops in this country, Petra. You’re not alone. Fourteen people 
died. I’m good, but my forensics and contacts aren’t going to better this force of blue.”

She sighed. What he said made sense. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps you stay low until we 
know more. They’re interviewing Boyd this evening, the FBI is. I believe Brian is with them 
now. I have an appointment with them in the morning.”

“Why? What can you add?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’ll ask about me.”

She stared at her husband. “And so?”

“Be careful what you say.”

“Don’t be a fool, Oleg. I know how to talk to police.”

“We all think that, and very often we underestimate those fools.”

She just smiled, sharing his Russian mistrust of authority. 

***

Brian met with the investigators at the hospital, in a room set aside to interview family of 
victims. The police he faced were from the blended task force of federal, state and local cops. 
Two men were waiting for him in the small, airless room. As soon as he saw the look on their 
granite faces, he knew they knew he was gay, and they didn’t approve. He forced aside his 
hostility and sarcasm. They were after the bad guys. He focused on that fact instead of their 
personal scorn. 

“What is your relationship to Mr. Coulter?”

“He’s my partner.”

“Business partner?”

“Life partner.”

He saw the shimmer of disapproval flow from one straight cop to the other. On the tip of his 
tongue was an insult about their cheap ties, ill-fitting suits, bad haircuts and abhorrent shoes, but 
he restrained himself. As usual, it fell to his tribe to beautify the male fashion landscape. “Do 
you live together?”

“Yes.”

They asked for his address and Brian gave him the house in Marigny. “Who else lives in that 
household?”

“Boyd has two children, we have a nanny, and my son visits frequently.”

They seemed surprised by all these offspring between queers. One of them said, “What is it you 
do?” Brian was annoyed by these questions, because he knew they already had all that 
information. Why put him through this? 

“Does it matter? Aren’t you here because of the bombing? Shouldn’t we be talking about that?”

“Mr. Kinney, please answer our questions.”

“I own a club in New Orleans. It’s under construction. I was in advertising for years and I sold 
my agency at a tidy profit. Why?”

“Do you have any enemies?”

“Of course I have enemies. I’m gay. Every uptight straight fanatic in this bible belt country of 
ours is my enemy.”

“Any with a personal vendetta?”

Brian thought about that. “There’s a Christian group in New Orleans protesting publicly against 
the conversion of the church I bought into a gay venue. And some firebug in a backwater bayou 
called Canard Rouge has threatened Boyd and I and burned Boyd’s home, there, to the ground. 
And Boyd’s former father in law, a notorious drunk, came at me once. I guess I’m more 
unpopular than I thought.”

They took details for each of these enemies and then asked, “The night of the museum opening. 
Did you or Mr. Coulter receive any threats?”

“No.”

“Can you recount that evening for us?”

Brian winced. It seemed a year ago that his life changed so dramatically. “We flew into Atlanta 
on Boyd’s family’s jet, along with friends and family.” They asked for passengers and he gave 
them the list. “We had a suite at the Four Seasons. The kids were going to Six Flags with their 
nanny. Once they were settled, we just hung out together.” Brian saw no reason to share the fact 
they engaged in a hot fuck session before they left. That was a personal detail he wanted to keep 
private.

“Where?”

“In our room.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“No.”

“What time did you leave for the museum?”

“About a half hour before the event was scheduled. We walked. Boyd was nervous about his 
speech and the walk was to help him chill.”

“Did you know Jared Hall?”

“I knew who he was. I mean that I knew about and admired his art. But I never met him. He was 
long dead by the time I came south.”

“And yet you knew his brother, Artie.”

“I wouldn’t say I knew Artie. I was almost killed by Artie, if that’s what you mean. He was after 
Boyd, or after Jared’s art, to be exact.”

“We have the file on that incident, Mr. Kinney.”

“Good. I’d rather not go through it again.”

“So neither you nor Mr. Coulter had any reason to believe something might happen at the 
museum?”

“The only fear Boyd had, was that his speech would fall flat. I had no fears. I knew he’d do 
great.”

“Once you arrived at the museum, what happened?”

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself back into that horror. “We mingled with 
friends and others, had a drink, some canapés. His sister and her partner were there. Friends. 
Boyd gave a beautiful speech to open the event. It was very well received. As he walked towards 
the exhibition, I told him I was going to take a leak. I watched him walk off with the curator and 
some other people. I went in the opposite direction, towards the bathroom. The next thing I 
knew, I woke up in the grass, bleeding. I have no memory of the explosion, or being thrown 
down, or anything else. I hit my head. Complete blackout.”

“Think back. Before that blackout, think of your surroundings. Can you remember any detail that 
might be of interest?”

“Have you seen this?” The other cop thrust a magazine at Brian. It was Time. On the cover, was 
a graphic close up of him, on his belly on the grass, bleeding and dazed. Seeing it brought the 
whole terror back to him with a whip of pain, and he leaned back in his chair, struggling not to 
get sick. “Congratulations, Mr. Kinney. You made the cover of Time.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Nausea was replaced with fury. Brian stood up, nearly knocking 
over his chair. “My partner’s sister died in that blast and he was critically injured and is still 
suffering from what happened. He almost died, too! Am I supposed to find this kind of shit from 
people like you amusing? What reaction are you looking for?”

“Sit down, Mr. Kinney, sit down,” the “good” cop urged him. “No one is making light of the 
tragedy. Please.”

Brian reluctantly sat down, leaning back, away from them, arms crossed at his chest, glaring. 
“Get on with it. I want to see Boyd.”

“Did you see anyone you might have recognized from New Orleans or Canard Rouge?”

“No.”

“Even on wait staff?”

“No.”

“Anyone acting furtively or suspiciously or where you didn’t think they should be?”

“Look, all I know is my partner gave a beautiful speech about art, about Jared, about us. I was 
very full of him at that point in time.”

“And yet you walked away from the exhibition.” Bad cop spoke up. Brian gave him a venomous 
glare. 

“I had to piss. We aren’t joined at the hip. This was his night. He donated that art to the museum. 
I wasn’t going to crowd him. If you’re suggesting I was trying to get out of the range of fire, I 
think I know a little about the law of defamation. I was in advertising.”

The man smiled. “No such suggestion, sir. Who is Mr. Coulter’s beneficiary?”

“His children.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Brian stood again. “I’ve had enough of this. Fuck you.”

“You really need to cooperate.”

“Then you really need to concentrate on finding a maniac killer, not insult someone who almost 
lost the love of his life and who did lose a woman he cares about dearly. And why? Why even 
ask me this shit? If I were the little woman would you treat me this way? I don’t think so. You’re 
homophobic pricks. I don’t have to be insulted. And I won’t be. So fuck off.”

“I’m gay,” the bad cop said and the good cop looked surprised. Brian paused. 

“You’re gay,” he repeated.

“That’s right.”

“What about don’t ask don’t tell?”

“That’s the Army, Mr. Kinney. I’m with local homicide.”

“You’re a credit to our tribe,” Brian’s dry reply brought a smile. But at least he didn’t leave.

“This isn’t about queer versus not queer. Although homophobia is a possible motive. Our 
experience is usually it pays to follow the money to find the perpetrator. In a crime like this, you 
tend to gloss over personal vendettas, looking for some huge political or religious crusade. But 
sometimes it really just comes down to greed.”

“Isn’t blowing up a building to get an inheritance a bit extreme?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Last I heard, Boyd’s kids weren’t demolition experts.”

“And you?”

“I’ve never even shot a gun. I’m not the type.”

“Who stands to inherit Lisette Coulter’s fortune?”

“I don’t know. Petra, maybe? Her partner? We had a meeting about wills and things a few weeks 
ago. Boyd and I wanted to make sure our children were provided for. But I have to admit, I 
didn’t pay that much attention to the rest of it. Frankly, I don’t know how wealthy Boyd’s family 
is. They live in a little one-horse town in the bayou. Since I’ve been with him, little things like 
private jets, have taught me that Boyd is richer than one might think. But how rich? I don’t know 
for sure. They own a sugar business. I guess sugar is more profitable than I knew. But enough to 
blow up a building to get at his money? Who would do that?”

“People have done many incredible things for far fewer bucks than the Coulter family controls.”

“Maybe some fanatic just hates modern art.”

“Maybe. Why was Bellamy Beaufort on your guest list?”

“He’s a friend.”

“He’s a politician.”

“We’ve forgiven him for that. So what?”

“He’s straight.”

“Believe it or not, we have straight friends.”

“He’s ambitious.”

“So?”

“Perhaps he was a target.”

“Don’t they usually take out politicians with a high powered rifle? He’s a city councilman for 
God’s sake. Big fucking deal.”

“There are rumors in Louisiana that Boyd Coulter was drumming up support to back Beaufort in 
a Senate race.”

“You’d have to ask Boyd about that. Or Bellamy.”

“You know nothing about it?”

“I know you’d have to ask them.”

“Oleg Dubrov. How do you know him?”

“I met him at the hospital for the first time. He was or is married to Petra. She was Lisette’s 
partner and a good friend.”

“Do you know what Oleg Dubrov does?”

“Imports olive oil? No, I don’t know. Don’t ask. Don’t care.”

“Why is he hanging around?”

“Petra called him. I take it they are still friendly. Maybe she felt like she needed some support 
after losing Lisette.”

“He has ties to the Russian Mafia.”

“Then why haven’t you deported him?”

“We don’t have the facts we need to do so.”

“Then it’s just gossip, as far as I’m concerned.”

“He’s a very dangerous man, and obviously a man scorned, even humiliated by his wife, who 
chose another woman.”

“Maybe, but he sure doesn’t act that way. He seems quite fond of Petra.”

“Maybe he wanted to eliminate a rival.”

“Right. After how many years? And he waited for them to come here, to his city, where he blew 
her up in a way guaranteed to bring down the Wrath of Cop on his head. He doesn’t strike me as 
stupid.”

Gay/bad cop chuckled, and then regained his stern composure. “What else can you tell us, Mr. 
Kinney?”

“I can conjugate verbs and my math skills are pretty good. But I digress. Stop talking to people 
like me and lifting rocks where no one dwells. Find the crazy motherfuckers who did this. How’s 
that? Do your fucking job.”

“How can we get in touch with you?”

Brian wrote down his mobile number and the number of the house in Marigny. “I’ll be here until 
Boyd is able to travel, at the Four Seasons. I want to be kept informed.”

He took their business cards and paused at the door after opening it. “One more thing. Don’t 
torment my partner. He’s been through enough. He lost his sister, who was his best friend. He’s 
been in intense pain, almost died, almost lost a leg, and it’s not over yet. Give him space.”

They didn’t say yes, they didn’t say no. Brian went over and picked up the Time Magazine on 
the table, rolling it into a cylinder as he left them there in the room.


Current Mood: aggravated