Sex in the Sky

Dale Vaden stepped out the front door, onto the porch. The overhanging roof shaded him from the gentle rays of the afternoon sun. It was a beautiful, spring day. The temperatures had been hovering in the mid-sixties for the past week. He stretched his back, groaning as his spine popped and realigned. Clearing a house of 40 years accumulation of living was not easy.

He walked down the three concrete steps at the place where porch and house joined. Stepping to the left, he seated himself on the edge of the porch. He tilted his face to the sun, reveling in the soft heat and light that bathed his skin, and turned the sightless vision behind his closed lids, a rich, radiant red. A lazy breeze touched him now and then. It sent a shiver through him, reminding him of a lover’s caress, a lover who was gone after four years. Four years in which Dale had surrendered his heart and believed he’d found his life’s partner. How could he have known that Tony didn’t feel the same?

Dale’s eyes opened as thoughts of Tony flooded his mind, “Ah shit.” he whispered.

He stared across the rolling, stubbled fields that surrounded his three acres of land, in the midst of Illinois farm country. Tony was exactly what he didn’t want to think about. Tony, with his tall, dark, Italian good looks. His glossy black hair, tremendously sexy, brown eyes, and his larger than life presence. It was infectious, the way he drew every eye in the room with his open, easy attitude and that booming laugh that invited everyone to join in his amusement.

Head shaking, he attempted to deny the wrenching sense of loss and the dark abyss that threatened to open at his feet when thoughts of Tony crept in. Tony and David. Even after two years, two years in which he’d come to realize that Tony really wasn’t the man he’d thought him to be, it still hurt. It still hurt to think about David, his own brother, being instrumental in the breakup that tore the heart from him, and left him feeling empty and alone. Feeling not only empty and alone, but more lost than he’d ever felt in his life.

He rubbed a hand across his face, sighing in resignation. A frown crinkled his brow as he admonished himself. It did no good to dwell on the past, at least as far as he and Tony were concerned. He needed to keep reminding himself that this was for the best, that Tony had never truly made him happy. Tony was too much, ‘out there.’ He was always busy running around, socializing, frittering away his time and money. Sure, he made a good living and worked hard, but he spent it almost as fast as he earned it. His attitude sometimes made Dale nervous.

Responsible, staid Dale, who liked to spend the occasional weekend at home instead of running all over creation. Who liked knowing there was a nest egg in the bank, who paid his bills on time and made his deadlines with unerring accuracy.

It was his and Tony’s biggest bone of contention. When he was denied his way, Tony pouted with all the aplomb of a four year old. His idea of fun was spending the weekends in endless rounds of shopping, mall, and bar hopping. Dale had generally given in and gone along, until he began to feel resentful and put upon. The years of separation had shown him clearly that their relationship had been headed for trouble. Something that he’d been unable to admit while blinded by his love and need for Tony’s companionship. Blinded by the picture he’d built in his mind, instead of seeing the reality of the situation.

Everything considered, Dale knew, if he was honest with himself, his biggest loss was his relationship with his brother. It had been such a shock when David and Tony had come to him, announcing that they wanted to be together. Dale had had a feeling that Tony was drifting away, it just never occurred to him that the someone he was drifting towards, was David. It was a double betrayal, one that had rocked him to his very foundations.

He missed his brother. That was why he struggled so hard to be honest with himself, to lay to rest the demons that tormented him. David had made several attempts to reconcile, but Dale had not been ready to accept his overtures. The pain was too fresh and too raw. His thoughts had been disorganized and jumbled. The ability to think clearly, without the emotional baggage clouding his thought processes, had been impossible. And so he held on to his hurt, nursing it, until the fog had lifted and he began to see all the components involved in the breakup. He began to see that Tony and David had not wanted to hurt him. His brother wasn’t a heartless betrayer, he was a man in love.

A wry smile tilted his lips. Now David contended with the never ending running and Tony’s spend-thrift ways. And yet, from what he heard from mutual friends, David was successfully taming Tony’s wild side. Dale wasn’t surprised. David had a way about him, a stubborn core of strength, that when he brought it to bear on a person, he usually managed to bend the unsuspecting victim to his way of thinking. It was a quality Dale lacked, one he admired and had been the target of many times as they grew up.

A full fledged smile lit his face as he thought of David. Dale realized, barring any reservations David might have, and he seemed to have none, that he was nearing the point of being ready to resume a relationship with his brother. A phone call first, he decided. He wasn’t quite ready to see the reality of David and Tony together in domestic bliss, but a phone call would be a good start.

That resolved, Dale felt the tension that pulled at his shoulders, ease. Now all I need is a truck to haul all this stuff to Goodwill, a dumpster for the rest and a good man to give me a massage when I get all this hauling done, he thought to himself.

The dull drone of a tractor broke his train of thought. As though on cue, it came into view on the road in front of the house. Seated behind the wheel was a broad-shouldered man in dusty jeans, tee shirt, and work boots. He wore sunglasses, and had a baseball cap perched on his head. Dale couldn’t make out his features or his age very well, though from his general build and posture, he seemed young. As he watched, the man turned his head, spotting him on the porch. The farmer lifted an arm and waved a friendly greeting, which Dale returned. He continued to the far edge of the field which was bordered by a hedge row. He turned the tractor in and began making rounds. The tractor hauled some kind of tank set up, which Dale assumed contained fertilizer or weed control of some kind.

He watched the farmer make a few rounds, then sighed and rose, determined to continue until the house was cleared. His grandmother had accumulated a lot of things over the years. A few things of value, like the oak library table, barrister bookcase and the two amazingly comfortable, heavy oak arm chairs with deep padded seats that resided in her bedroom. She also had an extensive set of Franciscan Ware dishes in a poppy pattern, that was displayed in a beautiful mahogany china cupboard. They were actually quite cheery looking with their raised yellow flowers and green leaves, Dale liked them. But for the most part, it was the ordinary assemblage of things one picks up as one goes through life.

Their grandmother had left the house equally to Dale and David. Dale had been seized by the notion of making a change, deciding to move, hoping the distance between himself, Tony and David would help. True it was only a few hundred miles, but Dale had found himself relaxing after the move. He’d been unaware of the tension his body was generating at thoughts of meeting Tony or David in the public places the three of them frequented. Even simple things like grocery shopping had left him with a headache.

He’d had their lawyer contact his brother about buying his half of the property, to which David had been more than agreeable. David had never been fond of vegetating in the country, perhaps another reason that he and Tony got on so well.

Dale had gratefully cleared his condo of anything unwanted, packed what he needed, arranged to have the rest of it shipped and got out of Dodge. As a writer, he was able to locate anywhere he pleased. Suddenly he was aware of the fact that he was very pleased. He loved the house. The grounds and gardens needed help and he had lots to keep him busy. He began to whistle a little off-key ditty as he returned to boxing up and clearing out the contents of the house.

* * *

Rick Hunter made yet another round on the tractor. The job was rote, one he’d done so many times over the years it was automatic. He’d learned farming from his father and his grandfather, it was something that ran in the Hunter men’s veins, mingling with their blood. Normally, he could disconnect from everything, concentrate on the job, leaving his thoughts, however troubling, behind. Not today. Today, they insisted on jabbing at him with pitchfork-like tongs that had his head throbbing.

Rick was 27. It was time and past for him to be married and having a family, or so his parents told him. Like they didn’t have enough grandchildren already. Seven, to be precise, three from his brother, Paul, and his wife, three from his sister, Sharon, and her husband, and one from his other sister, Karen, and her husband. You’d think they’d be satisfied with that, but no. Just this morning he’d gotten a call from his mom, hinting around about that nice girl, Vicky Williams, who attended their church.

Rick knew Vicky. Vicky liked to hang out at Smiley’s, on the weekends with her friends. Once in a while she picked up a guy and took him home. Rick had been one of those guys. Vicky was a nice girl, and a decent lay, but Rick wasn’t looking to marry her. Rick wasn’t looking to marry any woman. Which was exactly the problem.

Over the years, he’d had more than his share of women. At 6′2″, with rich, dark, honey-blonde hair, blue-green eyes and features of face and body that a modeling agency would drool over, Rick garnered more than a few looks. Looks that came not only from women, but from men as well. Rick was having a harder and harder time not returning those looks. Not the ones from the women, but those from the men.

From the time he was an adolescent, he’d been aware of an attraction for both sexes. It became more than apparent however, that the majority of the population wasn’t particularly sympathetic to same sex couples. With that in mind, Rick had limited himself to dating women only, until he turned 20.

He’d gone into Springfield, with some friends for a night of bars and strip joints. While searching for an elusive club, they’d gotten lost. Rick stopped at a pay phone that luckily had a phone book, he planned to call the club and ask for directions. Paging through the book, he came across a flyer that had been stuck between the pages. Stud’s, it advertised, a club that featured an all male revue, a club for men only. Rick had carefully folded the flyer and stuck it in his pocket. He made the call, he and his friends found the club they’d been searching for, and spent the rest of the evening ogling mostly naked women, while sucking down beer after beer.

Rick had been distracted. As the designated driver he had to stay sober, and though he enjoyed watching the women, thoughts of an all male revue kept creeping into his consciousness. What would it be like to watch some sexy stud dance and strip down until he was wearing next to nothing or nothing at all? The thought had Rick hard as a rock. Fortunately, under the circumstances, such was to be expected. He didn’t have to make excuses for sprouting a hardon, when every other man in the room was in a similar condition. On his return home, Rick had beat off to thoughts of male strippers gyrating their hot bodies for his pleasure.

In the days that followed, thoughts of spending an evening at Stud’s, became an obsession. Three weeks later he made the trip into Springfield, found the club and walked into testosterone heaven. It was better than he’d imagined. Wall to wall men, not a woman in sight. And the smell. Heated male flesh, musky and distinctive, not a flowery scent in the crowd. Rick felt his cock firming up from the smell alone.

He made his way to the bar and ordered a beer, turning to watch the couples on the dance floor. Trying not to let his inexperience show, he ran the gamut of emotions from amazement to jealousy that he wasn’t on the floor dancing. Something that was soon remedied.

From the time he’d walked in the door he’d been under scrutiny. It wasn’t long before he was approached and asked to dance. Feeling awkward but determined Rick accepted, and soon found himself with partner after partner. He enjoyed the dancing, heated bodies moving to a pulsing rhythm as they swayed and sometimes ground against each other. He fielded some very graphic offers, not yet finding anyone that really grabbed his attention. Until Carl.

Carl slid between him and his current partner, taking control of the dance. Rick found himself staring into a pair of mesmerizing brown eyes as, big, masculine hands closed on his hips and pulled him close to a thick throbbing bulge. His own cock responded. Without a word Carl took his hand and led him to a part of the club he’d yet to see.

In the back of the club, several dimly lit rooms, joined by open arched doorways, held club patrons who had things other than dancing or drinking on their minds. Rick saw everything from hand jobs to full out orgies taking place. No one seemed to mind the possibility that they could be watched. Most of the couples or groups concentrated on only that which they were part of.

Carl pulled Rick into a deserted corner and pushed him against the wall. Rick groaned as Carl worked open the buttons on his 501’s. Carl slid to his knees and without hesitation took Rick’s thick, seven inch cock into his mouth, sucking and laving as each inch disappeared between his full, wet lips. Rick swore and grasped Carl’s head, his hands encouraging each bob of Carl’s mouth over his throbbing length. He was in a different world, no woman had ever made him feel close to what he was feeling now.

He protested when Carl pulled away, leaving his cock, wet, exposed and aching for relief. Carl turned to face the wall, opening his own jeans and lowering them. He looked over his shoulder at Rick.

“What are you waiting for, stud, fuck me.”

Rick was non-plussed for the moment. Even as the sight of that tight, muscular ass made him want to dive right in, he felt he owed Carl the truth.

“Look, man, I’ve never done this before.” his face flamed as the words left his mouth. He was grateful that the light was so dim.

“You ever been with a woman?” Carl asked.

Rick nodded.

“Same principal, just a different hole. I want your cock up my ass. You gotta a condom?”

Rick again nodded, pulling the condom from his back pocket. Carl turned around and took it from him, giving Rick the chance to study his endowments. Carl wasn’t quite as long, maybe six inches, a very nice, very full, very hard, six inches. Rick reached out and grasped Carl’s cock, just as Carl grabbed his. Rick pumped Carl slowly, causing him to throw back his head and moan.

After a moment Carl stepped back, “Man, you better stop before I blow.”

He moved forward again and rolled the condom down Rick’s turgid length. He turned again to face the wall.

“Use some spit and a couple of fingers to open me up. It won’t take much, I’m no cherry.”

Rick obeyed and soon had Carl moaning as he scissored two fingers, then three into his hot, tight, pucker.

“Now, fuck me, man, now.”

Taking himself in hand, Rick guided his cock to that once tiny hole that was now open and ready for him. He smeared his condom covered dick with saliva and made contact, pushing forward until he penetrated the tight anal ring and slid slowly inside a tight, velvet-lined furnace. With his hands at Carl’s hips he began a slow, shallow, rhythmic thrusting that gradually increased in pace and depth. The sweat that had broken out on both men began to slide down their bodies in lazy rivulets. Spicy musk inundated their nostrils, as body odor mingled with the primal scent of sex.

Carl was grunting, pushing back into each thrust, chanting, “Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah.”

Rick labored in a fog of pleasure, gasping for each breath. His hips pounded against Carl, his one objective to bury his cock, again and again, in the volcanic heat that gripped him, until finally, he erupted. His rushing fluids filled the condom as he ground deep into Carl’s chute, instinct pushing him to bury his seed deep, despite the fact that it was trapped in latex, and there was no fertile field awaiting it in any case.

Dimly, Rick was aware of Carl’s guttural cry as he unloaded against the wall, his hot spunk sliding down to puddle on the floor. Rick disengaged and removed the condom, dropping it into the puddle.

Both men adjusted their clothes. Carl grinned at Rick, “For an amateur, you’re a hell of a top. You coming back any time soon?”

Rick returned the grin, “I’ll probably be around.”

Carl nodded, “Any time, stud, any time.”

They made their way back to the front of the club. Rick stopped in the bathroom to use the facilities and wash up. Once back out on the floor, he quickly tired and decided to call it a night. One hell of a night. The first of many that led him to his current dilemma.

Although he’d known for years he was bi, he was just now admitting to himself that he preferred men. So where did that leave him with his family? How was he going to break the news to his parents not to expect any grandchildren from him? Rick wasn’t at all sure he could face up to it. He had one more problem as well. Those nameless fucks in the city were getting old. He did want to settle down, if only he could find the right guy. A fleeting image sparked in his consciousness. The guy on the porch, the new neighbor, old Mrs. Vaden’s grandson.

As he’d passed by, he’d gotten the fleeting impression of dark reddish brown hair and a lean, athletic body dressed in faded jeans and a deep green tee shirt. Only a glimpse really, and yet apparently his sub-conscious liked what it saw. Rick glanced over at the house as he made another round in the field. He could see a pile of boxes on the front porch, but the owner was apparently inside. Curiosity niggled, and he resolved to find the time to check out the new neighbor.

* * *

“This is pitiful.” Dale muttered.

He was outside, at the back of the property, scrutinizing a small grove of poplar trees. Most were dead, others only partially alive, and half a dozen had been blown down or had just plain fallen over, weakened by rot. The grove wasn’t very large, twenty five, thirty trees at most. He was resolved to see it pulled down. Dale had visions of oak or maple trees replacing the poplars. He liked the idea of planting trees that would stand long after he was gone.

After spending the last few days clearing everything from the house except the few pieces of furniture and other things he’d decided to keep, Dale decided to amble around the property and take a few mental notes about what he wanted to see accomplished outside. The poplar grove became his number one objective.

As he walked around, he was aware of the fact that the farmer was again in the field that surrounded his acreage. He stood contemplating the ravaged trees until the increasing noise from an approaching tractor pulled him from his reverie. From his shaded vantage, he could clearly see the man riding the tractor. As before, he was dressed in a tee shirt, jeans, work boots and baseball cap. His hands were covered by leather gloves, his eyes shaded by the dark lenses of his sun glasses.

He drove the tractor to the edge of the field, shutting it off. Blessed silence returned. Dale watched as the farmer dismounted the tractor with easy grace, the well defined muscles of his thighs bunching with the effort. Just as he remembered from several days ago, the man was broad-shouldered, muscular, his upper body shown to a distinct advantage by the clinging fabric of his tee. His arms were solid, with a light covering of soft hair that shone golden under the sun. He removed his gloves, slapping them down on the seat of the tractor and approached.

“Uhh. That’s pretty good. Not good enough, though.” A devilish grin was on his face. He knew exactly what he was doing, and I could do nothing but play his game.

“How about that? And that?” I said, punctuating each “that” with another hard thrust.

“Uh huh. Fuck this bitch’s ass. Fuck it. Fuck it.” He continued to repeat his obscene mantra, driving me to frenzy.

“Take it, fucker. Take it, bitch.” All of a sudden I wasn’t seeing Jake. I was seeing my wife, my company boss, all the people who had screwed me over and then tossed me out on my ass. My rage poured out of me through my cock. My body pummeled not only Jake, but everyone who had done me wrong.

The big man who had seduced me with such skill was not only taking everything I had to give, he was loving it.

“Yeah, do it. Fuck my hole. Use it.” His hand was between our driving bodies, moving furiously on his stiff cock, pulling his foreskin back and forth over the purple, engorged head.

“Fuck, going to shoot. Oh yeah!”

I saw the first white jet splatter onto his stomach before I screwed my eyes shut against the tidal wave rising in me.

“Aw shit, I’m cumming too. Take it. Yeah, yeah, YEAH!” My words dissolved into hoarse cries as I felt my juices explode out my cock into the rubber deep inside Jake’s ass. Each spurt tore a shout from my throat, until I collapsed onto Jake’s chest, warm and sticky with his load.

As I regained some strength I raised myself on my elbows and pulled myself out, releasing his legs. I looked at his chest, the hair on it matted with his cum. I lowered my lips to his skin and drew the sperm in, claiming the prize I had been denied earlier. The sharp odor hit my nostrils. The taste was first salty, then bitter. It was rich and masculine, just like him.

I looked up at his face. The hard glint in Jake’s eyes that had goaded me on was gone, and he was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t fathom. “What?” I asked.

He shook his head, and I realized that what I now saw was a tenderness so deep it took my breath away. He slipped an arm around my shoulders and drew my face to his. As he kissed me he licked some of his load off that remained on my lips.

“I’ve only known you a day,” he said. “But it feels like I’ve known you forever.” I turned my head and lowered it to his chest. He wrapped both arms around me and held me close. I heard his heart beating deep inside his body.

“I want you to stay,” Jake said.

I raised my chin so I could see him. “Sure.”

He shook his head. “I’m not talking about just tonight.”

I was silent, thinking about what I had lost and what I had found. What was left to draw me back to the empty house, the busy, heartless city I had left behind? Here in this land of enchantment, with this man who had seen into my soul, perhaps I could find peace. Still, I hesitated.

Jake understood. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

I cupped his rough, bearded cheek. “A lot’s happened really fast. I’d like to take it one day at a time.”

He smiled. “Fair enough.” He winked. “Just so you stay around long enough for me to take that cute butt of yours.”

I looked into his eyes and knew that I wanted him to do it.

We let go of each other just long enough to catch some dinner, then went back to bed. Jake turned out the light, and the next thing I knew I was waking in his arms. Outside the sun was shining and a bright new day lay ahead.

END

“It’s the fucking truth. I can’t hold a pencil anymore, and you spew your garbage every week for that rag. Now get out of here. I can’t stand the sight of your mediocre self.”

He had fled, vowing not to return. Yet he had come back, and stayed to the end. On the last day Marc’s emaciated body became wracked with harsh gasps as his organs failed. Jordan looked for a last time into his glazed, unseeing eyes, kissed him on his chapped lips and whispered, “I love you,” though he knew Marc was past all hearing. The agonized waiting as the dying man’s labored breathing gradually slowed and stilled would remain forever etched in his memory.

“I’ve made you sad,” Lee’s voice said, jerking him back to the present.

Jordan passed a hand over his eyes. “It’s okay. I needed to talk about this–it’s good.”

“Gentlemen, we’re closing,” the barista said as he stopped by their table to pick up their cups.

Lee looked at him intently. “I’d like to continue this at my house. You haven’t told me about your own writing.”

At Lee’s modest, elegantly furnished home the professor had served him Scotch and they had continued to talk. It took considerable conversation for Jordan to discover that Lee had written, some years previously, a novel that had been nominated for the National Book Award. The older man displayed a copy with mingled pride and diffidence.

“I remember reading this my freshman year in college,” Jordan said. “I loved it. I can’t believe I’m meeting the author.”

Lee laughed. “Right now I’m feeling pretty old.”

“You haven’t written any others lately?”

Lee shook his head regretfully. “I’m not sure why. The usual reasons, I suppose. The teaching, not having enough time. I love teaching and I’m good at it–I don’t feel unfulfilled not writing. Maybe that’s the problem.”

Almost before he knew it it was one o’clock in the morning, and Lee was looking at him with a new intentness in his eyes. Jordan had wondered what he would do if this moment came. He found himself reaching out and stroking one bearded cheek. The sweetness of Lee’s smile at his touch filled him with a warmth he had not felt for a long time.

“You know why I gave you my card?” Lee asked as he cooked breakfast for Jordan the next morning.

“No, what?”

“The way you teared up when you told me you had known Marc. I could tell he was someone special to you. I wanted to help.” Lee bent and kissed Jordan. “Besides, your butt looked great in those tight black pants. I was feasting my eyes every time you left the table.”

Jordan hugged his arm as they laughed. Even then, though, he had not been bowled over by the chemistry between them. Every time he thought of Marc, on the other hand, his mind filled with erotic images: Marc naked on the porch of the stone cabin, ready to fuck him, his long cock jutting up from his coarse pubic bush; Marc gently rubbing both his nipples with the palms of his hands until he writhed helplessly with pleasure; Marc overwhelming him with ardent, tobacco-scented kisses.

He owed Lee a lot. The older man had supported him, encouraged him to quit waiting tables and find work that would let him write. Yet dissatisfaction had slowly grown through the placid months of their life together, going off to work at the paper every weekday, weekends spent safely, predictably, at the movies, the theater or the lake. Finally, he had begun to search for something to fill the void.

Marc had frequently been cruel to him while he was alive–but in death, he cast a spell over Jordan that he couldn’t seem to break.

He was roused out of his memories by the tread of heavy footsteps at the front door. Hastily he logged off. He said nothing to Lee that evening about the message.

The following day Jordan came home and went immediately to the computer. Logging on, he felt nervous anticipation as he saw the blinking icon signaling incoming mail. He opened his in-box and gasped.

There was another message from marcmoss, this time with an attached file: “Any day now.”

With trembling fingers he opened it.

Hey Camel: Just another heads up, and a little present to hold you until then. Marco

He punched the icon to download the file, which was untitled. As the frame on the screen began to fill, he watched in fearful fascination.

“Oh, Jesus,” he muttered when it was done. He was shaking all over.

The picture itself was attractive, the kind he would have downloaded from one of the sites he used to peruse regularly until the blowup with Lee. It was an image of a dark-haired, mustached man, slender but toned, smiling with casual arrogance. He wore only a very brief, bright red Speedo, perching on the rocks that ringed one of the area lakes on a bright sunny summer day.

It was Marc, of course. It was bad enough that someone had sent him the picture that had once been his favorite. What made it a thousand times worse, what caused coppery terror to rise in Jordan’s throat, was that, as far as he knew, he had possessed and destroyed the only copy. He had taken that picture himself on one of their excursions, and burned it in the depths of his grief soon after Marc’s death.

“What?” Jordan said, irritably. He and Lee were driving to dinner at some friends’ a few days later. No further messages had come, but Jordan’s nerves remained on edge. He had not been able to trace the source of the e-mails–the anonymizing server they had come from had been singularly unhelpful.

“I said, is there something wrong?” Even Lee must have noticed his mood.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” What could he say? A ghost was sending him e-mails and pictures from his past?

Lee sat back, his face dark. “You’re so jumpy and rude. If there’s something I’ve done that’s bothering you, why can’t you let me know what it is?”

“It’s not you.” They were on a busy street and Jordan wasn’t sure where the left turnoff they were supposed to take was.

Great time to start, Lee.

“Then what is it? You were just like this around the time–”

“When what?” They had reached the intersection and were stopped in the left-turn lane. The light was green and traffic rushed past them in both directions. Jordan turned to face his partner as his temper flared. “When you found those e-mails from Burt? Is that what you were going to say?”

Lee sat stiff and silent.

“Damn it, Lee! Don’t start in on me again.” Jordan thought he saw an opening and swung the wheel, angrily stomping on the accelerator. Their car jerked into the intersection. At that instant a horn blared loudly and brakes shrieked to their right.

Lee wheeled toward the sound, screaming “Oh my God!” just before the oncoming car broadsided them.

The next few days were a series of mercifully blurry images. Sitting in the shattered car amid pebbles of glass, cradling Lee’s bloody head, screaming for help. The ride to the hospital. Waiting in the cold, impersonal lobby, trying not to weep. Praying, despite the fact he didn’t believe in God. Breaking down at the news that his partner was in a coma. Then, days later, rushing to the hospital after hearing the encouraging phone message.

“When can I see him?” Jordan demanded eagerly.

The doctor, a quiet, competent woman, frowned. “Perhaps not just yet.”

“Why not? I thought you said he’d recovered consciousness.”

“Yes, but–” she finally continued. “There seems to be a problem with his memory.”

“What sort of problem?” Jordan asked, anxiety rising.

She hesitated, then spoke. “It appears he has at least temporary amnesia. He does not know his name, occupation, or any basic information about himself. My guess is that he won’t recognize you, either.”

Jordan stood silent, momentarily stunned by this news. “But maybe seeing me will make him snap out of it,” he countered. “Please.”

“Well, perhaps,” she said doubtfully.

They had walked into Lee’s room together. His head still bandaged, his partner turned toward Jordan and the doctor. His eyes were mild, impersonal. There was not a flicker of recognition in them.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“TO BE CONTINUED…”