Chasing the Ghosts of Gods

“Laugh, God damn it!”

Spinning, arms out, Rick roared at the cluster of people pressing in on him, their frowns and pinched expressions grating on his nerves. Who the fuck were they to judge, these pathetic sheep who pointed and stared, mocked what the gods created in a fit of drunken revelry. Dionysus would have been proud, he thought as he cocked his head to the side, studied the dark skinned man that was rapidly moving towards him.

 

“Hey, look man, we don’t want no trouble here. Why don’t you just go on about your way, man, it’s all good.”

 

“If it was all good, then you’d be laughing,” Rick remarked, the grin slipping from his own lips. Didn’t they know it wasn’t funny unless they laughed with him? What good was a clown without its audience? Perhaps he should have painted on jester makeup today.

 

“I don’t see what’s so funny.”

 

Well, now that was downright depressing. Face to face, damn near nose to chin, Rick stared into the chocolate eyes staring down at him, a tough feat considering he was close to 6 foot 4. This guy had two inches on him and yet the prospect of fists flying only served to make him smile again.

 

“Don’t you know we were just put here to make the gods laugh,” he asked the ebony skinned giant, chuckling at the uncomfortable confusion on the other man’s face. “So be a god, and laugh. You know you want to.”

 

“Listen man, we’ve already called the cops, why don’t you just leave, let us get back to our picnic.”

 

Little kids peeked out from behind their parents legs. Men stood, just a little bit ahead of their women, younger people to the front, older to the back, they outnumbered him twenty to one, easily, and yet every single one of them was looking at him like he was the threat. He could feel their fear, like a stale oppressive weight closing in on him. Amusement bled into disappointment, a heavy sadness that left him ducking his head, shuffling from one foot to the next, filled with a sudden, nervous energy that was never good. Not like goodness was something he associated with himself often. He tried, but his efforts were more often than not met with confusion our outright disgust.

 

Like now, and the whole thing was pissing him off ‘cause all he’d wanted was to make these people happy, make them smile and laugh for a moment ‘cause laughter…

 

Well, there just wasn’t goddamn enough of it.

 

Shouldering past the giant, he glared as the crowd parted for him, damn near tripping over themselves to get out of his way like he was toxic.

Maybe he was, there were enough chemicals in his veins to pickle a corpse, even after embalming, and he wanted, no, he needed something to pour all his unchecked energy into.

 

The blast of a siren, short and instant, was like a scream for him to stop, but he ignored it and continued on. Smirked at the second blast and clenched his fists, itching for a confrontation.

 

Run

 

He froze at the sound of the voice, deep and rich as it rolled through his mind, a welcome presence after how long it had been silent. Too bad it was telling him the exact opposite of what he wanted to do. Fuck running, that group of killjoys had pissed him off and a good fight would take the edge off until he could find one that paid.

 

Run

 

“No.”

 

Great, he was answering the voice out loud. His nana used ta say that you weren’t crazy ‘til ya started talkin’ back ta the voices. Guess he’d crossed completely over into certifiably nuts ‘cause he’d stopped moving all together and was squinting at the ground, ignoring the slam of the car door as the cops got out of their vehicle.

 

Unless you like padded walls, you will run. Now. RUN!

 

He did run then, all shreds of defiance fading at the thought of those empty walls and the silences, such long stretches of quiet that he’d found

himself filling them with songs past the point when his voice was hoarse and the smallest sounds forced past his throat brought discomfort and pain. The silences were quite possibly worse than those empty walls and always, always, the voice was silent when he was there, mocking him with its wordlessness until he’d been certain he’d been abandoned. 

 

From somewhere behind him he heard a cop shouting his description into the radio in between puffs and wheezes as he fought to lose them. There were trees up ahead and on the other side of them an alley and a stretch of mostly abandoned warehouse that he knew well. Their footsteps were fading as they fell further and further behind, and in the time it would take them to return to their car and attempt to catch up with him, he could lose them a the maze of steal and brick.

 

Braches scratched his face as he plunged into the wooded area. A tree limb snapped against the side of his head, dangerously close to an eye but he never flinched, not even when the brambles gouges sores of flesh from his arms and hands. Some of them tangled around his legs, sending him sprawling and he scrambled to his feet and tugged, ripping the left leg of his jeans as he pulled it free. There was gray space ahead, concrete and street lights, he scrambled for it, the mud on his boots causing him to slip just a little as he hit the sidewalk.

 

Sirens were everywhere, but the voice was urging him on, whispering encouragement as he plunged across the street, horns honking, the feel of speeding metal brushing so close that it touched his hand. Pain spread from his fingertips up his wrist but he never paused to see the damage. Instead, he passed the first building and wove between the second and the third, slipped around the backside of the forth one and through a busted window, gashing his arm on the glass as he slid into the dim of a hot and dusty room. Mice scurried out of his path as he scrambled towards the stairs, knowing it was safer to go up than to stay on ground level. They were close enough that he could jump from one building to the next if he needed to, though the sirens were distant now and the voice was quiet again.

​

His heart hammered in his chest as he took the steps two at a time, breathing harsh in his ears as he groped his way through the darkness, slowing

only when he tripped and skidded and crashed into a wall.

 

Breathing, that was what he focused on now, one hand gripping the jagged end of a broken board, the other on the ground, anchoring him.

Drawing his legs up under him, he curled against the wall, leaning his shoulder against it and pressing his head to the rough, old bricks.

The darkness closed around him, and within it, things scurried. Something skittered to the left, followed by the metallic sound of something spinning along the floor. An old beer can, maybe, he could really go for one right now, cold and dripping, soothing his parched throat and the heat rising up off the back of his neck.

 

An old eighties tune whistled with conviction cut through the other sounds and Rick scowled, trying to remember where he’d heard that sound before. It was only as it dawned on him that it was the theme song of an old TV show that he realized that there were footsteps accompanying it, steadily heading his way.

 

Shoving himself to his feet he moved deeper into the shadows, backing himself down the hallway towards a room he knew had an accessible window and a fire escape. Was more likely a vagrant than a cop, or at least, that’s what the rational part of his brain told him, but the run and the stress meant the drugs were wearing off and where an hour before there had been only joy and warm euphoria, now, there was the icy cold talons of paranoia sinking deep within his soul.

 

“Come on out here boy, I know you’re in here somewhere I saw you run in. What the hell ‘av you gotten yerself into now?”

That voice, grizzled with a hint of western drawl out of place here in the deep south, prompted him to let out a shaky breath, though he didn’t move.

 

“Charlie?”

 

“Yeah kid, it’s just me, so do an old man a favor and put away whatever weapon yer holding, I don’t need ta get shanked just ‘cause yer seein’ ghosts or some shit.”

 

“Wish the ones who were after me were dead,” Rick muttered, but Charlie’s words had drawn his attention to the press of cool steal in his hands and how tightly his fingers were wrapped around it. His knife, he didn’t even remember drawing it. Now it took conscious effort to close it and put it away.

 

“You mean the cops? Why are they after you this time?”

 

“Fuck them, it’s not them I wanna see in an early grave.”

 

Charlie chuckled, getting closer by the moment. With no light in the room, he knew the other man would never find him unless he moved. Well, he’d been pretty certain of that, anyway, until a flash of flame in the darkness left him blinking as Charlie brought his lighter up to his face and lit the cigarette dangling from his lips.

 

“You want one?”

 

“Please.”

 

He took the offered cigarette and the lighter too, lit it and let the smoke settle deep in his lungs following the first drag.

 

“Thanks, Charlie.”

 

“Anytime, kid, so what did you do anyway, to get the cops so pissed.”

Rick shrugged.

 

“Just tryin’ ta bring some joy to the world.”

 

Charlie’s laughter scared some pigeons roosting in the corners, the loud fluttering of their wings filling the entire room. Something brushed Rick’s cheek, soft, like the tips of a feather, but when he touched it, his fingers came away sticky, and he realized that he smelled blood. Oh well, what was another scar on such a hideous monster as him.

 

“You’re real, right?” Rick blurted. His mind had been wondering all day and sometimes reality and fantasy kind of blurred until conversations didn’t feel real.

 

“Yeah kid, I’m real, did you run outta meds again?”

 

Rick shrugged, forgetting Charlie couldn’t see him. The truth was, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d remembered to go to the doctor to refill his prescription or the drugstore to pick one up. He certainly couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken those meds, not when he preferred the shit he could get on the streets. The stuff they gave him at the doctor’s office always dulled the edges of everything, slowed shit down and bled the colors away. He hated grays and blacks, preferred the swirling neon of images that burst like fireworks in his mind.

So what if he had to fight or fuck to make a buck, it was all the same thing anyway.

 

“Rick?”

 

“Hmmm?”’

 

“Your meds, when was the last time you took them?”

 

“I dunno, I think I lost ‘em at a party by the river. They might have fallen in the water, oh, no, wait, that was my gun, I was playing with it.”

Heavy, calloused fingers gripped his arm and Charlie was tugging him towards the end of the building, and the light of the windows there.

 

“Where the hell did you get a gun? Why would you even be fooling around with one of those things?”

​

“Someone ditched it by the dumpster behind that beignet shop on Tchoupitoulas street where that hippy chick works, you remember her, right. Her hair was like fire and when she danced it was like she was a child of the wind.”

 

“I don’t remember her dancing, I do however, remember her chasing you from behind there with a broom after she caught you slipping out the back door with a beignet in each hand.”

 

“Can’t help it, I’ve got a sweet tooth,” Rick muttered as the brightness of sunlight piercing jagged, greasy windows made spots dance in front of his eyes. “Owe, what the hell did you pull me over here for?”

 

 Charlie’s grip had turned painful, on his arm, holding him in place, and on his chin as Charlie tipped his head up and studied his face in the light.

 

“You’re high as hell. It’s a good thing that gun fell in the river, you don’t need to be playing around when you’re all fucked up. Please tell me there were no bullets in it.”

 

He wasn’t supposed to lie to Charlie, Charlie was his friend and you didn’t lie to friends, so he just stayed silent, squinting at a spot on the wall.

“Shit, kid, god damnit. Just tell me why.”

 

“Wanted to see if he was right,” Rick muttered, refusing to make eye contact. “He said the muzzle flash was like fireflies if you watched it close enough. Just wanted to see it.”

 

Charlie let go of him in order to rub his temples, the older man’s hair looking a little grayer than usual.

 

“We need to get you back in to see a doctor before you end up hurting yourself. You’re pale as death kid, when was the last time you ate?”

 

“Had some mushrooms.”

 

“Those are not food, Jesus Christ on a cracker you need a keeper, you don’t need to be living in this place and wandering the streets aimlessly with no one to watch out for you.”

 

“You watch out for me.”

 

“When you let me. When you don’t wonder off for days at a time. That you somehow always manage to avoid getting arrested is a miracle kid, but your luck is gonna run out one of these days and then what? You got any family anywhere that’ll come down and bail you out.”

 

“They all burned and died. There embers were like fireflies, remember, I told you about them.”

​

“Just thought that maybe there might have been someone who wasn’t there that night.”

 

Rick shook his head, remembering the way the flames felt, hot against his face and hands, so bright and orange and beautiful, throwing shadows on the lawn and the trees around the house. He remembered how badly he’d wanted to get closer, and the way someone had held him back.

Erik.

 

He hadn’t seen his best friend in months, not since the ghosts in the guitar had argued with them and all the music had run dry.

 

“Wish I could go out to the desert.”

​

Charlie chuckled and propelled Rick back towards the staircase and up, up, up to the roof and the light where the sun was warm and the sounds of jazz and blues mingled together on the winds.

 

“Sit down and eat this,” Charlie ordered, pressing a cellophane wrapped sandwich into Rick’s hands and pressing on his shoulder to get him to sit. Rick complied, tucking his legs beneath him and leaning against a brick chimney.

 

Unwrapping the sandwich he nibbled on the edge, the turkey like sand on his tongue. Food rarely tasted good anymore and from the fit of his jeans, cinched by a belt, he’d started losing weight again. Made him a faster fighter but he’d always preferred being stronger. Which reminded him, he’d have head over to the waterfront soon, he was almost outta cash and ‘shrooms, a dangerous combination.

 

“Stop pickin’ at it and eat the damn thing.”

 

“Wasn’t really hungry.”

 

“Eat the food, Rick, and tell me more about the desert. What the hell would you be looking for in cactus and sand?”

Rick took a small bite and swallowed it without chewing so he wouldn’t have to taste anything. “Morrison’s ghost,” he said once he’d swallowed.

 

“Really, and what will you do if you find it?”

 

“Ask him about the snake, and the roaming ghosts, and the drums.”

 

“You got music in your veins, kiddo, that might be the only thing that saves you.”

 

“Nothin’ ‘ill save me, ‘cept maybe Erik.”

 

“Ain’t seem him around in a while.”

 

“I know. I think the ghosts finally got him.”

 

Rick was silent for a while, thinking about the lightning bolts on the guitar and the way they’d swirled, like a whirlpool when the ghosts had started talking and Erik, he hadn’t seemed to notice, he’d just kept on continuing to play, even as they’d started sucking him down, down into the purple lights. Rick had reached for him but he’d been too late, the ghosts wouldn’t let him climb into the whirlpool too and when everything went silent there had been no more guitar and no more Erik, and those ghosts, sated and full had fallen silent again too.

 

It always seemed to happen that way. There never seemed to be room for him to go with them. Was like he was just destined to be left behind, forgotten over and over again. Sometimes he wondered if there would be anyone left to miss him besides the colors, and what would happen to him once they all faded away.

 

“I wish I could see the world the way he saw it,” Rick finally admitted. “All lit up with fireflies and flower children, electric blue snakes slithering through midnight streets while the ghosts banged buffalo drums and sang to the old gods of the desert.”

 

“Morrison…or Erik?”

 

“Both.”

 

“Sometimes, I think Erik might be his reincarnation. That would be so cool. I wish he’d tell me though, if he is, I’ve got a billion questions for him.”

 

“Stranger things have happened.”

 

“Like me?”

 

“Naw, kid, you’re not strange, a little mixed up in the head, but who isn’t. Come on now, finish the sandwich, you don’t want it to go to waste.”

“I’d rather eat a grilled cactus. Did you know that in the desert, you can get drunk off scorpion venom in cactus water?”

 

“Who the hell told you that?”

 

“This armadillo I met, when I was walking on the highway one night. Well, it was actually the ghost of an armadillo that had gotten squished by a Jeep. Do you know how many corpses there are of armadillos up on the interstate? Sometimes there’s more than a dozen in a mile.”

 

“And the ghost of one decided to talk to you?”

 

“Yeah, it was kinda trippy. He just waddles on over and starts waving his snout in the air, talkin’ ‘bout how he’d still be alive if he hadn’t gone urban. Guess the lure of streetlights calls to even them.”

 

“Rick, listen to me. We need to get you help, okay? If the cops do pick you up and you’re talkin’ like this, they’re gonna lock you up someplace worse than jail.”

 

“They can’t catch me, I’ll turn into smoke and drift away.”

 

“Yeah, well, even smoke ends up trapped sometime.”

 

Rick finished the last bite and pulled out his lighter, torching the cellophane until it was melted and charred. Hot plastic dripped on his jeans, and the skin exposed by a rip in the thigh, but he never flinched, just watched it turn red until Charlie swatted the shriveled mess aside.

“I’m tired, wake me when it gets dark, okay?”

 

“Yeah, okay, but when you wake up we need to talk. Maybe you’ll be clear headed by then.”

 

“Only if it rains, it can wash the ghosts and the flames away.”

 

“Then maybe I should pray for a deluge, huh?”

 

“Only if you wanna live through another flood in this city.”

 

“Yeah, that’s a no, one in a lifetime was more than enough. Go to sleep kid, you need it.”

 

“Mmkay, Charlie,” Rick replied, sprawling on his side in a sunbeam, getting comfortable. Once, long ago, he’d have found it impossible to sleep on the hot tarpaper roof with the grit and gravel surrounding him. Now, he couldn’t remember what a bed felt like or the warmth of blankets wrapped around him. The sun was better than cloth anyway, and as he drifted off to sleep, he dreamed of flames and fireflies, and an old Victorian mansion crumbling to the ground, the screams of the dead and dying who were trapped inside it, drowning out the crackle and sizzle of charring wood.

​

It was time. There was no more pushing it back. Charlie had hoped that by staying in the city he could find a way to get Rick seen by someone that could help him, but at each turn he’d hit a dead end. The clinic alternated between having a med provider and looking for a new one, meaning service was spotty and appointments were next to impossible to get. He’d tried keeping track of Rick’s medications himself but as soon as he was swallowed up by his own demons, he became an unreliable caregiver. Not the best person to look out for someone who was prone to getting lost in delusions. Add in their constant state of homelessness and frequently illegal means of earning money and it was time for a change.

 

Or in Charlie’s case, it was time to turn to the hand that had been extended towards him by the very man he’d let down time and time again. Love had never changed that. Need had never meant a damn thing. Benjamin had both to spare and had demonstrated them time and time again. There had never been a time when Charlie had returned there and been turned away. Nor had he ever found that Benjamin had welcomed someone in to take his place.

 

He kept the light on through the night and the cheesy ass welcome mat Charlie had insisted on buying, back when they’d first moved in. His demons hadn’t been that strong then. Certainly not enough to keep him away for months at a time the way they did now. Though they weren’t the only reason his return trips to the desert had been infrequent these past few years. He’d had Rick to look after and though Ben had insisted right from the beginning that Charlie should bring Rick with him, he’d been reluctant to mingle those parts of his life.

 

Only the kid had been talking about the desert more and more now, and with Erik going ghost these past few months, he’d been even more difficult to keep track of. It had been easier when there had been two of them to keep Rick’s attention diverted away from his more self-destructive pursuits. As much as he hated to admit it, Charlie knew he couldn’t keep up on his own. Rick was sleeping as peacefully as Charlie had seen in a long time. Whatever drugs were in his system had at least brought him some measure of peace, but the moment he was up again, all bets were off.

 

At best he had half a day to pull this off, maybe longer, depending on when the last time was Rick had slept. He could see the marketplace from where he stood. It housed one of the few remaining payphones in the city. He could be there and back long before Rick so much as twitched, with as deep of a sleep as he was in. He needed to move now and stop stalling before his window of opportunity shrank.

 

These past few months, the constant climbs up and down fire escapes had left his head reeling a little the brief bought of dizziness producing some slightly nauseating results, but it kept them away from the tent cities and the fights Rick inevitably got into there. Damn he just hoped Ben had kept the landline. It was the only number Charlie had ever managed to commit to memory. At the bottom, he took a moment to learn against the side of the building, eyes closed while he waited for the spinning feeling to go away. The stone against his shoulder helped to ground him some before he made his way around the side of the building to the front and decided that a shot of whiskey was just what he needed to make it better. That and it would provide the liquid courage he needed before he picked up that phone.

 

How many times had Benjamin accepted the charges knowing how high the bill would be by the time they finished dealing with whatever it was that had driven Charlie to reach out that time? Each time his shoulders grew tenser with every ring that went unanswered, while his stomach twisted up in knots, doubts flooding his thoughts with images of Ben having passed away or moved on.

 

One of these times it would happen, and it would take him more than a shot to get passed it…if he ever recovered for that. The bell on the inside of the liquor store rang the moment Charlie shoved it open, but the man behind the counter was busy ringing someone up and Charlie wasn’t picky. He grabbed the bottle closest to the door and fled, not even bothering to try and conceal the act. It was only once he was certain that he wasn’t being followed that he paused to sit on one of the concrete benches beside the fountain and crack the bottle open.

 

Rum and not the flavored crap either. This was dark, spiced and a little bity on the way down. Liquid courage, he took several swallows before he caught sight of someone shambling his way. He knew the look and the woman it belonged to. Her eyes were glued to the bottle, a desperate, almost fanatical look in them. It made for an easy decision to take a few more swallows and then pass it over. It would keep him from being caught with it and keep her from trying to ply her trade with the wrong person in order to get what she clearly needed.

 

Her game was pickpocketing, and she’d been beaten more than once when she’d gotten caught by a mark. The drink she stole to provide herself with was the very poison that had stolen the steadiness from her hands. It was a vicious cycle, one Charlie knew only too well. Her smile was grateful and the brief hug they shared a welcome one. Out here, they needed to watch out for one another, especially when the rest of the world tried so hard to pretend that they didn’t exist.

 

He reached the phone without incident, pacing anxiously in front of it while the person inside the booth eyed him and fortunately decided to wrap things up. These new booth-bubble things had much more space than the tight closets he’d grown up with, which was a good thing, because it meant his pacing didn’t have to end at the door. It helped the booze flow through his system faster, bringing with it the warm buzz that kept his heart from leaping into his throat when Ben answered on the third ring and agreed to accept the charges.

 

“Do you need one ticket or two?” Ben asked without even a greeting.

 

“Two,” Charlie stammered, thoughts reeling as the spiel he’d planned turned to dust on his tongue. “But how did you know?”

 

“You promised that the next time you called it would be when you ready to come home. You’re on the phone, so I naturally assumed you were keeping your promise.”

 

“I am.”

 

“Good, then hang up, sit down, and I’ll call back with the details as soon as I’ve arranged them.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Thank me by staying this time,” Ben replied. “I need you here. Have for a long time.”

 

He ended the call then and Charlie did as he was told, running his fingers through long, shaggy hair as he waited, knowing there was more to that declaration than just Ben missing him. Something had changed but he knew Ben wouldn’t tell him until he was ready, and he wouldn’t be ready until Charlie and Rick were home.

 

Back to the desert where he should have taken Rick in the beginning….and the truth that he still owed him.

​

All it had taken to get Rick on the bus was the promise that they were going to the desert. He’d even sat still and allowed Charlie to search his clothes and remove the illegal drugs he carried, items Charlie wouldn’t allow anywhere near Benjamin or their desert home.

 

Their.

​

Funny how he was already thinking of it that way now that he’d made up his mind to go home. He just hoped it lasted this time. He needed it to last because the thought of letting either man down wasn’t one he’d be able to stomach, which would only push him towards his demons faster, if not lead to him surrendering to them forever.

 

No, this time he would take steps to make sure things were different.

 

He would ask around to find out where the meetings were and he’d drop in on as many were necessary to find the right one that fit and the sponsor that would help him keep on track and work the program.

 

At least Rick wasn’t an addict. The kid used recreationally, for the release and the escape from the things in his head, but he could take them or leave them, and did, depending on how he was feeling and if he was in the mood to do the type of favors he usually did when he wanted something to send him soaring but didn’t have the cash to pay for it.

 

That didn’t mean Charlie wouldn’t have to be on the lookout for him to cop once he was down there, he knew they’d have to watch him like a hawk, at least in the beginning. Ben was already working on getting him set up with appointments, thanks to a friend he’d reached out to. The hope was that he’d succeed where Charlie had failed and be able to get him seen within the first few weeks of their arrival. That and the newness of southwestern living would hopefully hold his attention and divert him from some of his darker thoughts.

 

If only there was a way to untangle the truth from the delusions when it came to the flames that Rick frequently spoke about. There was no doubt in Charlie’s mind that he’d witnessed something terrible, what he’d never been able to get to the bottom of was whether Rick’s family had actually been involved or if they’d gotten mixed in with a different memory. After so many variations, some grounded in reality and some more fantastical and well, difficult to follow, what with mentions of a firebird or phoenix and something about a sand worm too, there was just no way to know for sure what was going on in that head of his.

 

And now he was taking that special brand of crazy home to the place that had always been his sanctuary.

 

Didn’t that make him the crazy one?

 

Too late now.

 

Rick was curled against the side of the bus with a folded flannel shirt between his head and the window. In less than ten minutes it would be time to wake him up and introduce him to Ben. Each block seemed to grow shorter, while the lights felt like they were dragging on for hours at a time.

The knot in the pit of his stomach was practically choking him and yet it still didn’t spare him the occasional hunger pang. Stops had been few and widely spaced out since their breakfast one as the sun came up and the gas station convenience stores he’d dashed into had been woefully lacking in items he could easily slip into his pockets.

 

Getting popped for shoplifting would have been a disaster anyway, especially if it had separated him from Rick and left him traveling on his own with no clue about who he was supposed to meet or where, exactly he was going. Hell, Charlie was the one with the tickets, so a transfer would have left Rick stranded when he couldn’t produce one.

 

The knowledge of those things had left him paranoid and on edge, which didn’t make for steady thoughts or steady fingers, especially when he hadn’t had a drink since they’d hit the road. The driver had made it clear that if he’d so much as smelled alcohol the person he smelled it on was off the bus without a refund. Another screw up he could ill afford if he wanted to successfully deliver them to where they needed to be.

 

Now the depot was in sight.

 

Somewhere at the end of the block Ben waited.

 

Without so much as a stop sign between them and it, the bus crept along, pulling into its designated spot with a hiss.

 

There were always a couple of people who flooded the aisle the moment the bus jerked to a halt, some even seconds before, staggering as the bus rocked into its resting position. He listened to the driver warn one guy to wait until the bus came to a complete stop next time while the lady behind that guy urged the driver to hurry up and open the door. Apparently, the toilet on the bus wasn’t up to her standards and she was in quite a hurry.

 

He could appreciate that. A stench had been wafting from it for hours, especially when some unfortunate person found themselves with a need to open the door. It would be nice to step out into the fresh air and take a whiff of warm sunshine and the spicy aroma of meat sizzling on a nearby grill. He wondered if it would be too much to ask Ben to buy them a little something before they headed for the remote town where Charlie and

Ben had once tried to build a life together. He didn’t want to impose on his goodwill, especially not right from the jump, but his stomach was protesting it’s emptiness and once he woke Rick, he was certain his would be protesting too. He’d hardly touched a bite of anything solid since there journey had gotten underway, though Charlie was sure that had a lot to do with the drugs working their way out of his system. Here, he’d have the chance to get healthy. Maybe with a clear mind he’d finally be able to give Charlie some answers.

 

With any luck there would be enough fragments left here to reconstruct the dream he and Ben used to sit around the bonfire sharing. And if there was a way to make Rick a permanent part of all that they’d hoped to be, then Charlie hoped they found a way to make that happen to. Maybe he was fooling himself into thinking that at this stage of life he could still have everything, but he’d rather play the part of the fool than the wise man any day.

​

It was a strange thing, watching the love of his life step off the bus looking like an aging hippie with his ass length dirty blond hair secured in a long braid that trailed over the shoulder of the drug rug he had on. Last time he’d come back it had been in flannel and jeans looking like some backcountry lumberjack and the time before that, he hadn’t even bothered with the bus. He’d rolled in on the back of some chick’s Harley with her driving it and damn, she’d been an itty-bitty thing but tough as nails and determined to hole up in the desert until she could figure out the next phase of her life’s journey.

 

It had wound up being a motorcycle repair shop and custom design center, woman owned and woman run, with not a single damned man in the garage to try and mansplain things to them, as Cee-Cee had put it. Now Ben was left to wonder if this latest stray he’d brought back here would be sticking around the way Celia had.

 

As his eyes drifted to man who’d followed Charlie off the bus, he was struck with the sudden impression that he’d seen the man before, bathed in flashing lights and flames as he’d squared off with a raven-haired man who was trying to prevent him from charging into a burning building. All he remembered about that guy was the giant black dragon tattooed on his back and the ice blue eyes that had gleamed from the dragon’s face, whisps of foggy mist flowing out of those cold looking orbs.

 

Back in those days, he and Charlie had been the ones who’d made their living pulling people from the flames and wreckage of their homes and businesses. True smoke eaters, they’d come up together through the academy, working at the same house while hiding their relationship outside of it. Labeling themselves roommates had seemed like the best way to stay on the job together and watch each other’s backs, and if they should happen to have done so while also living in the closet, well, times were different from the way they were now and a relationship like theirs wouldn’t have been well received on any front.

 

In the end, they’d never had to face the fallout of that decision because an injury on the job from a partial roof collapse in what should have been a routine housefire had cut short Ben’s career and reminded him that no fire was ever routine. He’d been four months into his recovery when Charlie and the crew of Engine 12, friends each and every one, had responded to a warehouse factory unaware that they had improperly stored chemicals in a storeroom there. When they’d ignited, they’d turned a slow building fire into a raging inferno and cost four members of their crew their lives.

Charlie had never been the same afterwards.

 

Between the meds to manage his pain, the meds that had been prescribed to help him sleep after nightmares left him with insomnia, and the meds for the PTSD the incident had left him with, he’d been a walking zombie, barely able to function, let alone help a still healing Ben. They’d both agreed that they needed a fresh start, somewhere away from the city where they could experience different things, new things, and figure out some kind of plan for themselves.

 

While Doctors had cleared Charlie to physically return to duty, he’d failed the psych eval twice and carried the memories and those scars with him into the new life they’d come out here to create. At first, his escape had come through physical exertion, working on the fixer upper house that they’d cobbled their money together to afford outright so they wouldn’t have a mortgage hanging over them. Ben had been unable to do much to help, his left arm had still been too weak to let him carry anything and the blow to his head had left him with vertigo flares that loved to kick up when he was on a ladder. Charlie had assigned him the task of choosing all the paint, stain, and flooring materials for the inside as well as mocking up designs for the deck where they planned to do the bulk of their cooking. They both sucked at using the stove and oven, meals either came out so overdone they were dry and tasteless, or so under that with a defibrillator and a little knowhow they’d be able to resuscitate it.

 

At the grill though, they’d created depths of complex flavors through marinades and rubs and had reveled in the opportunity to develop their own blends and flavor combinations. Grilling brought their creativity alive and Ben still cooked most of his meals that way, just as he planned to do tonight as a homecoming for Charlie and his friend, Rick.

 

These past few times he’d left here, Charlie had claimed it was because he needed to get back to the city and look out for him. Ben knew that part of his leaving was also a desperate attempt to outrun the demons he could never fully shake. It had started gradually at first, just the occasional dive into the bottom of a bottle, only he started forgetting to crawl back out, and that’s where they’d had trouble.

 

Now here he stood with more trouble.

 

Even with the hoodie shading his eyes and much of his face, Ben could see how pale he was, twitchy too, and unable to meet Ben’s gaze enough for him to see what color his eyes were. If this was the man he remembered, they would be a brilliant emerald green. Ben still remembered the panic in them and the way the soot covering his face and the shimmer of tears in them had made his eyes stand out even brighter.

 

“Rick, this is Ben. Do you remember me telling you about him?”

 

Ben held out his hand just to see if the man would shake it, but Rick had his hands shoved in the pockets of that tattered black hoodie and what looked to be reddish brown hair obscuring most of his face. Between it and the hood, Ben wasn’t sure how much of what was going on he was actually tracking.

 

Rick’s voice was low and distant when he spoke, like he wasn’t fully there in the moment. “The desert man.”

 

“Yes. Exactly. We’re on the edge of the desert right now, but he’s going to take us home.”

 

“That mean I get to ride a Gila monster now?”

​

“Pretty sure that will earn you a nasty bite,” Ben said, waiting to see if Rick would acknowledge his words or engage with him.

 

“What if blood is the offering and all I need to do is give enough to pay my way to the stargate?”

 

When Ben opened his mouth to warn him off touching one of the damned things should he encounter it, Charlie gave a short, sharp shake of his head, warning him off. He’d have to wait until later to warn him about the size of their teeth or the way they latched on harder if they were picked up.

 

“How about we make an offering to our stomachs and see about finding something to eat?” Charlie offered in what was a clear diversion.

 

“I’ve got some steaks that have been soaking up the newest rub I concocted. Soon as we get home and get you guys settled, I’ll toss them on the grill,” Ben offered. “Was planning on roasting some golden potatoes and steaming some broccoli to go with them. Come on, the car is just over here.”

 

Ben took a couple steps, relieved when he glanced back to see Charlie and Rick following him. From the snippets of conversation he could make out, Rick was describing some kind of battle armor that was supposed to make it easier to stay on a Gila monster’s back. He was going to get himself hurt if he persisted along that path. Those slow-moving lizards didn’t bother a soul unless some idiot decided to bother them first, then all bets were off.

 

Charlie seemed to have developed a way of talking to him that at least prompted a response. Hopefully that meant he also knew how to reach him when reality was slipping away, otherwise, Ben was going to have hell on his hands keeping up with the two of them.

​

“Here we are,” Ben said as he pulled into the garage and turned off the vehicle.

 

In the passenger’s seat, Charlie dozed, having given up on pestering Ben to stop somewhere along the way to pick up a snack. Ben hadn’t refused out of cruelty, but fear that taking Charlie inside would leave Rick unsupervised to potentially wander off in pursuit of Gila Monster. It also meant he was opening the door for Charlie to swipe something like he’d grown prone to do. It was almost compulsion now, like he couldn’t help but scan the room for the placement of the mirrors and cameras.

 

The same instinct and training that had lead him to find many a scared and hiding child also made it easy for him to pinpoint blind spots and flaws in the security layout of the room. Ben would have had to keep one eye on him and one eye out the door on the car to make sure Rick stayed in it.

 

Of course the other option was to leave the pair unsupervised and that seemed like even less of a good idea even if he took the keys. According to Charlie, Rick could hotwire, but without a tool to pop the lock on a vehicle, it was a skill they wouldn’t have to worry about much out where they’d be living. They had no neighbors in sight and even if he managed to wander far enough to encounter one, he’d need to find an unlocked vehicle before he’d be able to take off in it.

 

Charlie said he wasn’t good with new models either and always targeted the older cars that operated with far fewer digital amenities. Glancing down at the steering wheel and the collection of conveniently places buttons and switches, he was glad that he’d traded in the old jeep for an upgrade. It would probably have taken Rick two seconds flat to make off with that one.

 

Charlie’s peculiar friend was awake and staring out the window, but he’d stopped talking about Gila Monsters several miles back. He still hadn’t answered anything Ben directly asked him or interacted with him in any way. Ben couldn’t tell if it was nerves or if he was deliberately being obstinate, but he hoped he got an answer soon. Without communication, he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to help Charlie help this young man.

 

Charlie still hadn’t moved, so Ben gave him nudge.

 

“We’re here,” Ben told him when Charlie cracked an eye open to stare at him. “Grab your stuff and come on. The sooner you two are settled, the sooner I can get those steaks on the grill.”

 

“In that case, arriba, arriba, andale, andale,” Charlie remarked as he scrambled out the door moving far

faster than Ben expected.

 

“Okay, Speedy, slow down and don’t forget your friend.”

 

“Rick!” Charlie called and that was all it took for Rick to turn away from the window and look at them.

 

“Get your stuff and let’s go!”

 

It was the tone, more than anything that seemed to have the effect on the young man. Straightening up, he grabbed his backpack and exited the jeep, eyes on Charlie, like he was waiting to be told what to do next.

 

Maybe that was the key.

 

Commands rather than questions.

 

If he was so focused on whatever was going on in his head that he couldn’t keep track of reality, it made sense that he’d be unable to weigh and evaluate options.

 

“Rick, I’ve got a room fixed up for you,” Ben explained as he led them through the living room. “Charlie, I assumed you’d be sleeping where you always do?”

 

“Long as you haven’t gone and gotten another one of those stiff ass leather sofas,” Charlie said in reference to the old brown monstrosity Ben had when they first move in together.

 

Heavy as hell and miserable in summer, it hadn’t exactly been comfortable either, but it had been free.

At the time that was the only factor Ben had been concerned with.

 

“Swore I’d never do that to you, and I haven’t,” Ben said as he pointed towards a sofa so laden with Afghans and throw blankets it was impossible to see what color it was.

 

“Is that Lucielle?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

“You kept her!” Charlie declared, making a beeline for the well-worn couch that often doubled as his bed.

 

Even on the nights when he started out sprawled beside Ben in their king-sized bed, he made it out there to the couch eventually. Restlessness and insomnia. Ben had come to accept them as permanent fixtures in their lives and celebrated the rare times when Charlie broke pattern.

 

“Yeah, I kept her,” Ben said. “It’s not like I could have hauled her out of here on my own and now you’ve got me doing it!”

 

“Doing what?” Charlie asked.

 

“Referring to that couch like she’s a fuckin’ person! And you, you named her for fuck’s sake, who does that?”

 

“People who believe their couch is a valued member of the family,” Charlie shot back as he flopped on Lucielle, sprawled out and started petting her arm.

 

“Don’t you listen to him, girl,” Charlie crooned like he was trying to sweettalk some critter. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. With as many nights as we’ve spent together you deserved a name.”

 

“That is truly sad,” Ben said, lips quirking up in a half-grin as he watched Charlie get comfortable. He was half tempted to admit that he slept out there on Lucielle whenever he started to miss Charlie too much, but he wasn’t ready to cross into that territory yet. Eventually though, they would have to talk about their relationship and make some hard decisions.

 

“Erik named the coffee pot Heaven,” Rick said, startling Ben and reminding him that he and his husband weren’t the only ones in the room.

 

“Seems appropriate,” Ben said, finally catching a glimpse of the man’s eyes when Rick stepped into the light.

 

Bright emerald.

 

Had he really expected to see anything different?

 

A flash of memory came roaring back. The green-eyed guy had started throwing punches at the guy with the black dragon tattoo. Ben and Marty had been swapping out their masks when they’d seen the dustup kick off and rushed to intervein. Ben had managed to maintain his hold on the tattooed guy as they’d pulled them apart, but Marty lost hold of green-eyes, who made a dash for that burning house.

Someone tackled him and dragged him to the ground, but not before the sleeve of his shirt caught on fire.

 

Now, as Ben watched Rick reach out to pet a sunbeam, he caught sight of an old burn scar on his wrist. If this wasn’t the same man, than it was an eerie damned coincidence, not that Ben put much stock in those. It made sense now that Charlie was so invested in helping him. He’d been there that night too and even helped with the overhaul once the flames had been put out. When they’d started finding bodies, Ben had been grateful to be outside helping reroll the hoses.

 

So then why had Charlie told him that he was still digging through old newspaper articles trying to determine if the fire was all in Rick’s head or not?

 

Something wasn’t adding up.

 

Seven souls had been lost that night. Had Charlie’s means of coping with the memory of those charred corpses been to block it out completely and if so, was it keeping him from accepting that he’d already found the proof he’d been searching for? Could that be the subconscious reason driving Charlie’s obsession with helping Rick?

 

Heaven was in the arms

of a blue-eyed rocker boy

hell was waking up sober,

in a backwoods hobo dive

with the ghosts smoking filtered cigarettes

screaming “no one here gets out alive”

 

The road to hell is paved with absinthe and chrome

blackbirds’ feathers dipped in gold

stained glass beauties grant false hope in the candles glow

as the noose swings empty now

and the crowd gathers below.

 

Son of a bitch…Ben knew that song!

 

Rick tipped his head back, letting the sunbeam wash over his face as he sang those final words. At first, Ben took the restless movements of his fingers to just be a quirk or a form of self-soothing, but the closer he looked, the more it resembled the motions a guitar player would make as they moved their hands over the strings.

 

Coming up in the department, they were all taught the importance of compartmentalizing. Every fire was a trauma for somebody, what they couldn’t do was carry that trauma from one scene to the next or they’d be of no use to anybody. Distractions cost people their lives. Following up with victims was frowned upon, but sometimes the nightly news brought a little insight into the people they’d encountered.

 

Ben had fought hundreds of fires in his career. It was inevitable for the particulars of each one to get all mixed up. He could easily recall the night a chunk of roof came down on Tommy McClellan and left them to frantically dig him out, but he couldn’t say if it had been in the spa fire on Ninth Street or the high-rise apartments on Franklin Boulevard.

 

Until Rick had sung that song the only thing that had been clear in Ben’s memory was the green-eyed man and the man with the dragon tattoo struggling with one another outside of the blaze. But now there was something else Ben recalled, something that had been a top story on several news stations that night.

 

Rick’s last name should be easy to find now that Ben knew what to hunt for, because that blaze had killed all but two members of a prominent alternative band.

 

And Rick sounded a hell of a lot like their singer.

​

​

​

“Charlie!”

 

Startled, Charlie thrashed onto his side and bumped his head against something hard enough to jar him out of a very restful sleep.

 

“W-whaaat’s all the bellowing for?”

 

“For fuck’s sake, Charlie! Wake the fuck up! You were supposed to be keeping an eye on Rick while I made supper.”

 

Now that was like a bucket of ice water to the face. He glanced around the living room, pointless, since Ben wouldn’t be hollering like the world was on fire if Charlie had fallen asleep and the kid had stayed where he was supposed to.

 

Damn it all to hell.

 

He was going to have to weave jingle bells into his hair or some shit along those lines if he was going to have any hope of keeping track of him.

 

“I didn’t hear the front door screech, so he has to be around here somewhere unless he bailed out of a window, which…is always an option,” Charlie hedged. “Damn. Maybe I didn’t think this through as well as I thought.”

 

“No shit, but then again, I sent you the money to go ahead and do it, so ultimately, it’s on me,” Ben said.
 

“As for the door, I replaced it. Wanted something more durable than what we had after there was a series of home invasions a couple years ago. Some folks got hurt bad trying to resist, one lady even got herself killed when she wouldn’t give up her wedding ring. Those robbers didn’t care if people had a pot to piss in as long as they turned over something of value. You should have seen their mugshot photos, fuckers were smiling, even looking at life in prison.”

 

“Could have been a relief,” Charlie said as he headed out the door.

 

There was nothing but road, cacti, and scrub grass for as far as the eye could see. Certainly not the silhouette of someone wandering around. On a whim, Charlie turned and went back inside to look in the room Ben had shown Rick to. His backpack still sat beside the bed where he’d placed it, and when

Charlie flipped back the pillow, Rick’s silver knife lay beneath it, bright against the brown sheets of the bed.

 

“He’s not far,” Charlie said. “He don’t go nowhere without that knife. Said Erik gave it to him. I’ve never seen him cross an alley without it, so for him to have left it behind in a room don’t make sense to me.”

 

It wasn’t a large house. Just two bedrooms, a couple bathrooms, a kitchen, living room, and the sunroom off the back porch where Charlie used to grow Blue Dream and Pineapple Kush when he was home. Smacking a palm to his forehead, he changed directions once more, this time heading for the bright space with its floor to ceiling windows and Rick, passed out on his side, asleep in a sunbeam.

 

“Should have guessed right off the bat,” Charlie said as he knelt and placed a hand on Rick’s shoulder.

 

“He’s always complaining about being cold.”

 

“Probably because he’s massively underweight,” Ben pointed out.

 

“Forgets to eat unless someone makes him,” Charlie said. “Claims everything tastes like sand and dead things.”

 

“Something else you forgot to mention.”

 

“We just needed to get here.”

 

“Yeah, that much is obvious,” Ben said. “You’d better wake him while the meat is still hot. Let’s see if he thinks those steaks are as flavorless as the dessert.”

 

Chuckling, Charlie shook Rick until he blinked emerald eyes and rolled on his back, stretching, and making his tattered t-shirt ride up and reveal the ravens tattooed across his stomach. One lay in a heap, obviously broken beyond repair, the other stood on its crumpled body, wings outstretched like it was attempting to hide the other from view. The raven’s head was bowed, and beneath its wings was scrolled the words: In this life and the next I’ll always be yours.

 

Everything about it, the lines, the shading, even the sorrow captured in the stoop of the bird’s shoulders, just enough to give the air of being protective, was quality. Wherever he’d had it done, he’d paid a pretty penny for it. Once, Charlie thought that it might provide a key into Rick’s past, but he’d never been able to remember the name of the artist, the shop, or even where he’d been when he’d gotten it done. Short of dragging him around to every tattoo parlor in the city and hoping to get lucky, there hadn’t been anything Charlie could do to learn more about it.

 

“Come on and eat your supper before it gets cold,” Charlie instructed when their eyes finally met.

 

“Awe. It’s nice here. I just got comfortable.”

 

“You’re lying on pinewood without even a pillow,” Charlie pointed out. “Not sure how you call that comfortable.”

 

“Was warm and I had a view of the desert,” Rick said. “It’s as beautiful as I remember.”

 

“You’ve been out here before?” Ben asked.

 

Charlie watched the way Rick reacted to the new voice with a scrunched face as he turned his head in Ben’s direction, cocked it, then slowly nodded his head.

 

“Once, with Erik. He had a friend who lived out here. A tattoo artist. Erik got his dragon that night.”

 

“Is that where you got the ravens?” Charlie asked, defeat washing over him when Rick shook his head.

 

“No. That was before the dragon and the guy with the twilight hair,” Rick said.

 

“Yeah?” Charlie said. “And who was he?”

 

“The reaper. Only we didn’t know it, so we tried to kill him, but you can’t kill death, and death will always get its revenge.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw Ben take a half-step back and hoped he’d get used to the sometimes shocking statements that poured from Rick’s mouth, especially if they were to have any hopes of sticking it out here on a long term basis.

 

“Food. Now, let’s go,” Charlie said before Rick could say anything more. As much as he might want to hear more of the story, he didn’t think now was the right time to expose Ben to some of the darker aspects of Rick’s psychosis.

 

Fortunately, Rick moved without further prompting, cracking his neck and shoulder once he was back on his feet.

 

“Comfortable my ass,” Charlie muttered as he led Rick to the kitchen where Ben had already plated their food.

 

“Sit here,” Charlie said, pulling out the chair to the left of his.

 

It was a simple square table, with one side flush against the wall and three chairs placed around it. They’d decided it fit better that way after the forth chair had broken. Guests were rare enough. Two guests at one time was practically unthinkable. That forth chair would have been even less necessary during the long stretches when Charlie was gone, giving Ben even less incentive to replace it.

 

When Rick sat and immediately bowed his head and folded his hands, Ben shot Charlie a look, to which Charlie could just shrug, having never seen Rick bow his head over a meal they’d shared. Of course, they’d never shared a meal at a proper table, either. Perhaps the presence of the table itself had dredged up something from Rick’s past. If that was the case, maybe exposing him to normal, everyday life would spark other memories and finally provide the answers Charlie had been searching for.

​

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