Date: Thu, 26 Jan 2017 18:57:21 -0800
From: Kid Boise <kidboise@gmail.com>
Subject: Sun Over Las Sombras - part 3

This story is a work of fiction involving two young men as they meet and
form a relationship. This is part 3 of the second story I have posted on
Nifty. I'm planning for the complete story to comprise 10 parts of around
equal length.

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:) I always reply to readers, and of course, will consider your plot
ideas. Also let me know if you'd like me to check out your work. Hearing
from you is a great source of inspiration and motivation to continue
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Thanks,
Kid Boise

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sun Over Las Sombras - part 3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Gabe still has the letter his mother left him before ending her life. Its
body reads, "As you know, my childhood was filled with sad things, but
because of your father, and because of you, I was able to be happy for many
years. Thank you for bringing me joy. Please don't worry about me, or be
sad that I am gone. Find my diaries in the black dresser and keep them with
you. Sell everything else at your discretion to ease financial burden. As
you read this, know that I am with your father again. I am confident you
have everything you need to be happy in this world. Your time among the
living will be long, and it will be joyful."

"Gabe," I repeat. He stares out the front window. It is a sunny day, clear
and hot. The lawn surrenders its overnight moisture in steaming waves.

He looks at me suddenly. "What?"

"Do you want to take a break?"

"No," he says. "Sorry. What did you ask me before?"

"I asked if you still believe in the Willow Man."

Gabe breathes out in one steady gush of air and folds his hands in his
lap. "No." He is thoughtful for a moment, then laughs. "Damn, it was a good
run, though, wasn't it?"

"What was that thing your neighbor was always said to you? The little
verse?"

More quiet laughter as pen moves across paper. "They chose to walk toward
him and I chose to flee. He took all the others, but he didn't take me."

---

Three nights in a row, Gabe helped himself to friendly conversation with
Miguel. He wrestled with this indulgence, believing it to be both risky and
necessary for the sake of his sanity. In some fuzzy childhood memory, Gabe
had known how to make and keep friends. These new attempts with Miguel
formed an isolated but compelling argument that he had retained the
ability. Thank God for that. He liked Miguel. Miguel was kind to him, and
didn't act like he had anything to prove, to anyone.

As Gabe rode the Orange Line back into the city, the thought bolted through
his mind that Miguel might even be like him. Of course, this was only
wishful thinking--and what exactly was he wishing for? What about the
possibility did he find so magnetic?

Gabe disliked these distant reaches of the city, so sprawling and wide
open, preferring the boundaries (physical and otherwise) of the cozy
streets he called home. To his right, ornate but chintzy fencing separated
rail from roadway. Across four vast empty lanes lay a sidewalk the color of
unstained teeth, followed by a wasteland of painted asphalt. At last,
glowing big box stores ballooned laterally in the hazy distance like a
whole shelf's worth of books flaunting their front covers instead of their
bindings. To Gabe's eye, there was something shameless about it. Something
arrogant. Along this section, the train operated as nothing more than a
streetcar, exposed to the pitch-black morning, halting at traffic signals,
yielding to phantom cars, and finally ducking underground at Biscayne,
where it would accelerate through miles of cut-and-cover tunnel as if set
free.

Before long, the walls of the tunnel closed in, and he found comfort near
them. He was exhausted, nodding off a few times during the half-hour
journey underground. Each time he opened his eyes, a few more people filled
seats; by the time the train came to a lurching halt along the terminus
platform, only a handful of open spaces remained. He was fully alert now,
alive with the promise of some as-yet-unknown encounter. In one jerky,
pre-programmed movement, he set off on his diversion, bumping past
early-risers and night-owls until he landed himself at the top of the
corridor.

Someone had fixed the lights. Not all of them were replaced, but it seemed
a modest surplus of tubes had finally found their way into dusty
sockets. The passage suffered under such honest light. Stained porcelain
wall tiles grew a more putrid yellow and pieces of waste materialized all
around him. A women's magazine stayed open near his feet, ink bleeding
across its damp pages.

Gabe could already make out the frame of the doorway to the men's room, but
as the automatic motion of his legs bore him closer, it became clear that
something was wrong. He arrived within ten feet of it and saw that the door
was completely gone, obliterated. No light at all came from within. In
spite of this fact, and for reasons he could not comprehend, he felt
impelled to walk through anyway, coaxed into a darkness so complete that
even light from the freshest of fluorescent bulbs didn't dare
trespass. There was something so perfect about this black, this void, so
minimal and sterile among its surroundings.

Instead, he turned toward an odd clattering noise that hooked into his
right ear. To his shock, the barricade preventing access to the abandoned
platform had vanished, every last brick removed, carried off. How had he
not noticed until now? The floor and walls showed only faint scarring;
otherwise it may as well have never existed. He stepped cautiously beyond,
moving toward the sound, approaching the ghostly platform itself, cast in
gloomy incandescence. On the wall above the rail trench, lettering peeked
from beneath the grime in antiquated, blood-red script: Odin Line -
Central. He locked his eyes on the words, emerging from the dusty tube,
halting at the center of the cavern.

He heard his own voice shout across the platform: "What do you want?"

Immediately, the dry rasp of a reply landed near the base of his skull--an
occipital ache that pulsed at each syllable. "I want nothing," it told
him. "I have already taken her."

It wasn't true. Please, God, let it not be true. Gabe bolted toward the
platform's exit, reentering the tiled hallway. He continued steadily over
the fading scars of the barricade, past the closed door to the men's
room. Finally, he remerged with foot traffic in the larger corridor. He had
captured something back at that forgotten place, though, right as he turned
to leave: a glimpse of the gaunt, grinning figure down in the trench,
standing on powder-white femurs at the mouth of the single-width tunnel,
through which the last of the Odin Line trains made its final pass so many
years ago.

---

Gabe was twelve years old when they first met. His parents had invited the
tall, muscular man over for dinner, as well as the man's girlfriend, whom
his father described as nice, quiet white girl. Up until that time, Gabe
had known Eddie only as a deep voice that called their home on occasion,
asking to speak to his father. As the couple arrived, that same voice had
boomed through the gap in Gabe's bedroom door. Half an hour later, when it
dared to utter Gabe's name, Marco had replied, "He's in his room. Quiet
kid. Likes to keep to himself, mostly." Then his father had called for him,
and Gabe had reluctantly joined them.

Eddie was visibly younger than Gabe's father. His distinctive appearance
had captivated Gabe: Such a physique felt infinitely distant from his own
pitiful pubescence, impossible, forever unattainable. And of course there
were Eddie's other physical qualities: his face and arms so deeply tanned,
that certain origin of his features so transparent--so unapologetically
Vietnamese. Gabe had never seen anything like it. Eddie displayed a
coercive fullness of his ethnicity, the very same to which Gabe was only
half-entitled, and for the first time in his life, Gabe had longed for all
of it, so that he could hope to one day wear it as beautifully.

When Eddie casually stroked the back of his girlfriend's hand, Gabe had
been scandalized that two people of such stark visual dissimilarity could
be together in that way. His initial wonder had quickly faded, but his
bewilderment at Eddie's physical form would linger for some time.

Gabe's mother had outdone herself in anticipation of this rare
visitor. Once they were seated in the dining room, she presented them all
with hot, oily spring rolls, grilled pork and pickled vegetables over rice
noodles; there was also cold soba, lemongrass shrimp, and, near the end,
sweet and milky iced coffee. Gabe ate everything greedily, slightly jealous
that only Eddie's presence justified such an extravagant meal. Over the
coffee, Gabe's father had offered Eddie the opportunity of a business
partnership. Eddie had been surprised and deeply flattered, or at least had
acted that way, and immediately accepted.

After dinner, they had retired to the living room for drinks, and Gabe was
dismissed. An hour or two later, Eddie and Lydia left for home. Gabe's
father had gone out onto the balcony to smoke (a habit his mother
begrudgingly tolerated), and Gabe helped clean up in the kitchen, scrubbing
grease splatters from the stovetop and side of the microwave.

His mother spoke slowly to him. She was not sober. "Thank you, Gabriel. You
were very polite to Eddie tonight. Eddie is a very important person to our
family. You have made me feel proud."

Gabe had nodded silently.

"No matter who you end up to be, you must know how proud I am of you. You
are strong and you are also capable. If you are ever in a place where no
one is around to remind you of that, you must tell it to yourself,
understand?"

Again, he nodded.

The metallic wailing of the garbage disposal started up. His father
reentered from the balcony carrying the crisp scent of Marlboros.

---

Gabe arrived at his floor, hand somehow steady as he brought out his keys
and unlocked the front door. Inside smelled exactly the same as out, the
faint rot of fish from the market mingling with the sweet freshness of
ocean air. The sliding balcony doors gaped open, the translucent white
curtains left undrawn and billowing inward. He kicked off his shoes and
walked back toward her bedroom.

Bonnie lay on top of the covers. Her eyes were closed. She had donned a
wispy blue dress Gabe hadn't seen in years, and her peaceful features were
reacquainted at long last with makeup. Her black hair was clean and tucked
neatly back behind her ears. She looked absolutely beautiful.

On an oak nightstand to the left lay three capsules, like oversized orange
tic tacs, gathered together in a tidy row. Next to them, a stout glass of
diluted liquid stood against the half-golden bottle of El Jimador. A fourth
capsule nested in the carpet below.

He crept toward his mother and reached out to feel her arm. She had gone
cold in the still heat of the room. He stumbled to her vanity and lifted
the yellowing receiver. Don't cry, he begged himself. Don't panic. Yet he
struggled when describing the scene to the dispatcher, so violent were his
sobs, and new breaths came unreliably to his lungs as he was ordered him to
remain on the line.

---

"Are you going to live at our house?"

Gabe was not startled. He had been awake for half an hour already, had
heard what he guessed were tiny feet moving across the carpet. He lifted
the edge of the down comforter, squinting, eyes meeting with the small
round face of a five-year-old. Eddie's oldest. "No."

"But you were sleeping here for three nights."

"I know."

"Are you a kid?"

"No, Gabby."

"Are you a teenager?"

"Yes, I'm a teenager."

"Oh." She sighed. "Your breath smells bad."

Eddie showed up, towering over both of them. "Gabby, what are you doing in
here? You need to leave Gabe alone right now."

She grinned up at her father. Gabe brought the covers down under his chin,
his black hair twisting furiously around itself. "It's okay, sir. It's her
house, not mine."

"I told you, you can stop calling me sir."

"Okay."

"We're making breakfast upstairs. Join us if you feel up to it. ...And as
for you..." Eddie announced, pouncing on his daughter, lifting her,
giggling, into his massive arms, "...we're going to leave Gabe alone now,
okay?"

"You can stop calling me sir," echoed her little voice, and then they were
gone. Eddie closed the door behind him. Gabe heard her laughter continue up
to the main floor.
 He was alone. Cold air whooshed through a
register in the ceiling. Every morning for three days he had come to the
realization all over again--that he was alone. The proof, of course, was
that he woke in the cool, pastel quiet of Eddie's suburban home. What other
circumstance could possibly have landed him here?

Each day, the path his logic followed was worn deeper. Was she finally,
truly gone? Yes, she was. After all, he wasn't still there; he was here
now. So, why didn't he cry? Had he cried yet at all? That's right, he had
cried himself to sleep last night, and the night before, and the night
before that. Should he continue to feel sad, though? She had been in
permanent, unfixable misery for most of her life, especially in the last
year. She had been absent for months. Should the mere fact that it was now
official make everything different? And yet, Gabe did feel different. He
felt a nagging regret, incessant, reminding him that he had done nothing to
stop it. Because in a sense, he knew what had been coming.

He hook a quick shower, dressed and headed upstairs. This family that was
not his own sat around the breakfast table. Generally, spirits had not been
at their highest, but the kids were too young to understand what had
happened, and the persistent warmth of a close family shone through. Eddie
and his wife Lydia were at each end end of the table, dolling out portions
of milk and jam. The twins cackled in booster seats and the baby perched in
a cream-colored highchair. Gabby sat alone at one end of the wooden bench
nearest the windows. Gabe slid in next to her.

"Gabe, glad you could join us for breakfast," said Lydia. "We have toast
and fruit here, and cereal. There are more kinds of cereal in the
cupboard. I can get them out for you."

"No thanks, this is more than enough. I don't usually eat breakfast
anyway."

"You should eat breakfast," said Gabby.

He couldn't help but smile over at her.

Eddie lifted a section of the paper. "Gabby thought it would be a good idea
to wake up Gabe this morning."

"Uh oh." Lydia looked sternly at her daughter. "Gabby, didn't we tell you
not to bother Gabe?"

Only now did Gabby show remorse, frowning and shaking her head, and it
broke Gabe's heart. "Really guys," he said, "she's fine. It was cute."

Gabby looked at Gabe, and then back and forth between her parents. Her lips
parted into a toothy grin, prompting a sigh from her mother.

Eddie turned to Gabe. "Don't forget there's a viewing, around one o'clock,
if you would like to get a chance to see her before the service."

"I don't think I need to."

"Alright." Eddie paused. "I'm going to head down there in a little
while. Lydia will drive you this afternoon, after the sitter shows up."

Lydia nodded sympathetically. Gabe looked at Eddie, who looked back at him
and then down at his plate.

"Sure," said Gabe. "That sounds good to me."

The house was too big, too beige, and too quiet--despite the kids, who
presented him with minimal but amusing distractions as the hours
passed. The babysitter finally arrived in the afternoon, and Lydia and Gabe
backed out of garage in Eddie's massive Lincoln. The red Honda waited
glumly in the gravel beside the driveway. A vast silence and emptiness took
over the air-conditioned car. As they arrived at the church, it spread over
the expansive grounds. The voice of the pastor dissipated into this empty
heat as he made his opening announcement: "We gather here today, on this
fifteenth day of June, in the year of Our Lord, nineteen hundred and
ninety-eight, to celebrate the life of Bonnie Villanueva, who has now
returned to her home with Our God, The Father."

The pastor spoke almost exclusively of Our God, The Father for the
remainder of the service. Afterward, as they walked out, the cemetery
acreage spread before him in its dry, limitless ubiquity, just as it had
one year earlier. This time he was flanked constantly by Eddie and
Lydia. All the satellite acquaintances in Bonnie's life surrounded them,
comprising a rather strange cluster of people: hairdresser, family doctor,
elderly neighbor (who remained stunningly mobile beneath a broad white sun
hat), and a few other people whom Eddie and Lydia evidently knew, but Gabe
did not. As they buried her, Gabe cried in part because his mother had left
the earth, and also out of that persistent sensation of guilt, which felt
like it would never cease. To Gabe's surprise, Eddie cried, too, dragging
his hands repeatedly under his eyes. Lydia, who had already consoled Gabe
at length, presently turned to her husband and said, "It's been a long
road, hasn't it? A very long road."
 In the evening, after the
kids were put to bed, Gabe sat with Eddie and Lydia beneath a massive
arched window overlooking the backyard. "You both have been very welcoming
these last few days. Thank you. Not tonight, but very soon, I would like to
return to my own home. I want to get it ready to sell, and there's a lot of
work left to do."

They looked at each other before Eddie spoke up. "Gabe, you know you may
stay with us as long as you want."

"I know that, Eddie. That's very kind of you."

"Please stay awhile longer," Lydia said. "At least another few days."

"Thank you. We'll see. Eddie, when can I return to work?"

Eddie gave him an exasperated look, scratched the back of his head and
said, "Wow, I don't know, Gabe. Not yet, okay?"

"Okay." He had expected this, of course. His request was unusual and
hopelessly premature, no matter how much he craved the return of the
familiar distractions of his job.

Gabe managed to carve out another two days in the suburbs, at times, bored
out of his mind, at others, steeped in guilt. Lydia stayed at home. She was
kind to him and encouraged him to play with the kids, which did manage to
lift his spirits a bit. On Tuesday afternoon he took a long walk to the
nearest station, a clean lump of stone and glass named Coronet-195th, which
stood under an isolated cluster of palm trees. He stayed long enough to
feel several trains rumble beneath him through a broad metal grate in the
concrete. He could board any one of them, he figured, and be whisked far
away from Eddie and his family without a second thought. He looked up, and
the sun beat cruelly back down. He began the long walk back.

Eddie sat in his home office on Wednesday evening, preparing to leave for
the camp. Gabe entered through the open door, closed it behind him.

"I'll be leaving for home tonight. I'm going to pack now."

Eddie cast him a predictable look of doubt. "I am concerned about you being
alone right now."

"I know. I'm really grateful for what you and Lydia have done for me, but
it's not helping me anymore, staying here longer. I feel like I'm going
crazy."

Eddie leaned back, covered his face with his rough hands. He breathed out
audibly into his palms. "I don't know. How would you feel about me staying
with you for a few days?"

The idea seemed incredibly strange to Gabe. "How would that work?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, you'll stay at my house?"

"That's what I said. Do you have a problem with it?"

Gabe paused. "I don't want you to be away from your family."

"It would just be for a few days. And if you're serious about selling off
assets, you're going to need some help."

It was probably true. Damn, Eddie had him. "What will Lydia say?"

"Well, to be honest, I already ran it by her. She's supportive. But I guess
it would be polite to ask first. Gabe, will you welcome me into your home
for a few days?"

After such an extensive look into Eddie's life with his wife and children,
Gabe had come to know a side of him that, before, he could not have
fathomed. As it turned out, Eddie wasn't nearly as cold, nor as quiet as
Gabe had always thought. Still, this presented a strange, unprecedented
intimacy with the man who was (Gabe hoped) still very much his boss. But
what was there left to say? "Okay, Eddie. If you think that is
best."
 "Great. I'll see you tonight after work. It'll be late,
but you know how that goes."

"I'll leave the door open."

Eddie dismissed him. Before leaving, Gabe said, "There's no good parking in
my neighborhood. I'll leave my car here. That way you'll have a place to
park tonight, under my building. You want the stall number?"

Eddie crossed his big arms over his chest. "Take your car home, Gabe. I'll
take the train."

An hour later, Gabe backed into the stall which had been assigned to his
family many years ago. He lifted his bag from the trunk and trudged up six
flights of stairs to his floor, finally arriving at his front door. The
lacquered oak surface of it looked all of a sudden very old, fragile, as if
too forceful a knock would punch straight through. As Gabe entered, he was
met with the forlorn sight of the kitchen. Formica (which badly imitated
white marble) threatened to peel from the countertops; a wood and brass
handle barely clung in place on the avocado expanse of the refrigerator
door. A fake fern hung in a basket from three gold chains, attracting
layers dust in the pass-through. But it was not just the kitchen; the whole
place stagnated, stood more than one year deep in decay.

That he had, in his somber distraction, somehow stepped into the wrong unit
was a temping improbability. When he was very young he used to play in the
stairwell and sometimes mixed up the third and fourth floors, barging into
the entryway of his downstairs neighbors. His shock and embarrassment would
be intensified by their laughter as he hurried shamefully back out. But of
course this was his home, or at least his childhood home--the home that
used to be his parents' home. He knew now, with certainty, that it was time
to depart. He would rid the entire place of its contents and he would sell
it. If he was not yet allowed to return to work, at least he could bide his
time with that.

The air was a thick, hot soup. Gabe threw open every window in the living
areas and in his bedroom and faced an old metal box fan out the balcony
doors. As it rattled and roared up to full speed, he went toward the closed
door of his mother's room, which remained sequestered, as if the toxicity
of what had occurred within was still communicable to the rest of the
house. He turned the knob and the door clicked softly open, swinging
partway inward under its own weight. He entered, saw the bed.

There had been no police investigation. Along with her body, officials had
taken the alcohol and the medication from the nightstand, had collected the
lone capsule from the carpet. Those omissions aside, the room looked
exactly the same as it had six nights earlier, when he had discovered her.

(That preferred word--discover--would forever strike Gabe as bizarre. If
you happen upon someone who is dead, you do not see that person. You
discover them.)

Gabe heard the knock around 3:30 in the morning. Eddie filled the entire
doorway, stepping slowly through after fielding Gabe's silent welcome. A
duffel bag hung from his inflated shoulder and a pillow was wedged in his
armpit. He looked like an enormous child attending a slumber party.

"You didn't have to bring a pillow. I have plenty to lend you."

"This is a memory foam pillow," Eddie explained. "Where would you like me
to keep my stuff?"

"In here." Gabe led Eddie into his own room. "I'll take the couch."

Eddie took one look at Gabe's bed and left for the living room, dropping
his belongings at the foot of the coffee table. "I'll take the couch. You
sleep in your own bed." He glanced around. "Haven't been here in a long
time. Mind if I do a quick tour?"

"No, that's fine."

He followed Eddie from room to room, at one point apologizing for the way
everything looked. Eddie reacted as if he did not understand. "It looks
like a home that was happily lived in for many years."

They reached south end of the house, the half-open door to his mother's
room. "She was in here?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah. On the bed."

They entered together. Eddie stood very still for a long time, silent, just
staring at the bed. An odd noise came from his throat. "Well...fuck." He
drew in a long breath, released it, turned to Gabe. "You must be getting
tired."

"Not so much."

"You want to talk about anything?"

A distant crashing of waves came through the large bedroom window. Eddie
had apparently stolen someone else's personality. "Like what?"

"I don't know." Eddie glanced down, as if suddenly aware of his shoes'
disallowed presence on the carpet. "I just think this is the kind of thing
that should be talked about. How long will you be up?"

Gabe looked around the room. His mother's ghostly presence lingered like a
film over every inch of it. "I don't know. I might be up all night."

"I think we need to talk about this."

A feeling of dread descended upon Gabe. But Eddie was adamant; there was no
point in fighting it. Gabe shut off the bedroom light as he trailed Eddie
out of the room. They went to the living room, sat down opposite one
another, were quiet for a minute.

"I need to know what's going on in your head, Gabe."

Eddie's words expanded into the room like a balloon until Gabe couldn't
stand it anymore. "I don't know how to answer that, Eddie."

"Your mother has killed herself. What are you feeling right now?"

"Regret." The word came out before he had the chance to think it over.

"That's normal. Anyone would feel that."

"No, not a normal kind of regret." Gabe moved his fingers quickly over one
another. "I regret my own actions. I feel very guilty."

"What do you have to feel guilty about?"

"Everything."

Eddie frowned. "Gabe, that doesn't make any sense."

Of course Eddie would think that. Anyone who had not lived in the mess of
this home for the past year would think that. But Gabe had witnessed
first-hand his mother's aching descent. Gabe, who could have chosen to
recognize his mother's decay for what it might very well have been--nothing
more than clinical depression--had instead indulged in her narrative, had
practically helped her arrive at this shattering conclusion. Gabe could not
bring himself to look at Eddie as he said, "I knew she was a danger to
herself. I did nothing. What kind of person does that make me?"

Eddie leaned back in his chair. "I doesn't make you any kind of person in
particular."

"Yes it does. I feel like a monster. I predicted it. I could have stopped
her--"

"No, you couldn't. I know it seems that way, but there was nothing you
could have done."

"How do you know?"

Eddie stared out past Gabe, clear across the room, as if his answer were
derived from the whispering shadows at the foot of the hall. "Because when
a person really wants out, then sooner or later, one way or another, they
get out."

But this explanation did not satisfy Gabe. "I should have told her doctor
how bad she was at home. She knows how to put on an act. It's a really good
one. Totally convincing."

"If I understand correctly, she had seen doctors for many years. I believe
the doctor would have known how bad it was. It's their job to know. Gabe,
sometimes there is nothing left to do for a person."

The thick and stormy air of the sea flowed in from the balcony and
encircled them both. Down on the street, a two-stroke engine clanged
past. Then the room became still again. The big man folded his arms across
his chest.

"I don't know," said Gabe. "I just wish she hadn't wanted out. All my life,
she wanted out." He looked over at a teal-and-magenta pile of scrunchies on
the end table. He noticed the scraps of paper lining the base of the couch,
made out his mother's incessant scrawl meeting their torn limits. He looked
anywhere but at Eddie. He said, to the notes, "Anyway, I guess she finally
got what she wanted, but she left me all alone here."
 Now it
was Eddie who seemed no longer able to look at Gabe, turning his
heartbroken gaze down to his feet. "No, Gabe. It's not like that. You're
not alone."

"If that's true, then why do I feel that way, Eddie? I feel incredibly
alone."

Even Eddie had no answer for this. See, thought Gabe, this is what happens
when you complain. Now go on, say something to put his mind at ease. "It's
alright, though. It's a tough thing to get at. It's like, even with all
this guilt, my gut tells me this was the right thing--her leaving. I never
encouraged her to do this. But I went along with her. I bought into it. And
now part of me thinks it was right. It was supposed to be. I'm terrified to
say that to anyone, but I still think it's true. I hope you don't think bad
of me for feeling that way."

"I don't think bad of you. I would never." He lifted himself, looked square
at Gabe. "Man, she's just...she's just gone. I mean, it's over and done
with. And it's not your fault. It will never be your fault."

Gabe was all of a sudden overcome with grief. "I wish I wasn't alone. I
wish she had been happy." He began to cry, face-to-face with the man for
whom he still harbored an ounce of fear. "After my father died, I wanted
her to stay here with me. I wanted her to want that. I wanted to be
enough. But I wasn't, and she didn't." At this, Gabe broke down completely.

Eddie rushed over to be next to him. Gabe's slender frame was pulled
directly into Eddie's encompassing grasp. "There is nothing left to do but
feel all of this right now. One day soon, it won't hurt this much. I
promise."

Eddie's voice boomed through his chest, and Gabe felt himself instantly
relax, at first crying harder, and soon, hardly at all. He was shocked
when, even after several seconds, Eddie did not show the slightest
intention of letting him go. Gabe allowed himself to settle into the
embrace. It was the most incredible feeling; Eddie's arms were like hot,
firm pillows against his chest, shoulders and back. Eddie smelled deeply of
his familiar cologne, of sweat, even of the sage surrounding the
encampment. Gabe moved in toward the man's chest, reached his free hand
slightly upward, felt the pronounced contour of Eddie's right pectoral
muscle through thin white cotton. Then his fingers descended slowly over
the soft ridges of Eddie's abdomen, landing on the brown leather ledge of
his belt.

Eddie shifted in an odd way, cleared his throat and released Gabe
completely. "Gabe. I know what it is you're wanting. Actually, maybe that's
something you need right now. I do believe it could help. But that's a kind
of help I can't give you, okay?"

Immediate regret, shame, disgust, at the vileness of what he had sought, at
himself for the atrocity he had just committed: all of it pressing him so
hard into the couch that he couldn't move.
 "Gabe. Look at me."
(But that was impossible.) "There's nothing wrong with it. But it's not
here. It's someplace else, understand?"

Gabe could not bring himself to speak.

"Gabe--damn it. I know, okay? I've known this about you. I'm not
alarmed. So just stop this. Stop this guilt. Stop hating yourself. If
you're sad that your mother is dead, cry about it until you can't
anymore. And for fuck's sake, if you need...that other thing, then go out
and find it, and don't feel so goddamned ashamed about the whole thing. All
I'm saying is that you won't find it here, okay?"

Gabe looked once at Eddie, turned away.

"Okay?" Eddie repeated.

"Okay."

"There we go. I'm here for you. Do you need to talk more? Or do you want to
get some rest?"

"I just want to go to sleep."

"Alright. I think that's just fine. We'll talk more tomorrow. Sleep
in. Sleep until noon, or longer."

Gabe smeared the cooling tears from his cheeks. "Okay, Eddie."

---

Gabe woke up close to one in the afternoon when Eddie knocked hard on his
bedroom door. "Hey, Gabe, I'm out of here. I'll stop in to see Lydia and
the kids, then I'm headed out early to camp."

Gabe heard the front door close before he could choke out a reply. He fell
back asleep and didn't wake up again until nearly three, sweating into his
sheets.

The memory of the previous night flared up before his eyes opened. He must
have completely lost his mind--only a crazy person would have done
that...and to Eddie, worst of all. Eddie, who had immediately, mercifully
pardoned him...Eddie, who knew him, who knew what he was. How could that
be? It seemed impossible, as did facing Eddie again after what had
happened, in just twelve hours' time. But Gabe knew he would do just that;
he would accept Eddie's forgiveness for the miracle it was. He would shut
up, and he would move on.

Gabe began to search his mind, search the house, for his next course of
action. A large open space existed between the living room and dining
room. If stacked and organized neatly, everything was sure to fit here. He
went to his mother's room (which was now quickly shedding its imagined
energy) and began ripping objects from their long-time homes. He removed
books from a sprawling set of shelves by the armload, constructing a
miniature city of paper towers on the floor. He heaved the mattress and
boxspring down the hall, leaning them against the wall in the dining
room. He stuffed the bedding into bags. Everything that was his father's
had remained absolutely undisturbed since the day of his death. Marco's
scarred oak chest of drawers contained most of his casual clothes, which
Gabe emotionlessly bagged; a dresser valet and its contents were packed
into a box along with his father's ties, gold watches and other small
items. He tore out the ornate drawers of the vanity and moved it in pieces
to the the living room. Then he dragged the empty bed frame a few feet to
the center of the bedroom, attempted to lift it onto its side and realized
it would not clear the frame of the door. He would have to dismantle
it. Breathing hard, he looked around the room. There were deep grooves in
the carpet where the furniture had stood. Nothing remained untouched except
for Bonnie's black dresser.

Of course Gabe had not forgotten the volumes waiting patiently for him
inside its top drawer. There were three and they were all fairly large,
thick, leather-bound. He knew that about them because she had used to store
them in plain sight, though he had never personally laid hands on
them. Gabe opened the drawer now and saw them lying, stacked, next to a
white shoebox of tangled lingerie. He plunged his hands down along their
worn edges, lifted all three out at once, pressed his nose into the topmost
cover--it carried a faintly sweet scent--and then set them aside. Swiftly,
quietly, he emptied the clothing from the rest of the drawers into an
oversized black trash bag. He dragged the bag and the empty dresser down
the hall, then removed several pictures from the wall (all art prints
except for one family photo taken around 1990, in which Gabe's ten-year-old
smile was an innocent beacon, genuine and free).

By the time Gabe stopped to rest, all that remained in the room were the
bed frame and a sad black lump against the wall--the stack of diaries. He
had anticipated that the space would take on some foreign, desecrated
quality now that it was nearly empty, but it hadn't. It looked, as he stood
panting in the doorway, like nothing more or less than his parents' bedroom
with everything removed.

Gabe heated up can of chili from the pantry, sat himself in front of the
television and ate as if it were his first meal in days. He showered, then,
still nude, began gathering her notes from the floor, scooping every last
senseless scrap into a dustpan before dumping them all into the garbage. He
dressed, went back to the bedroom, took up her diaries under one arm,
poured a glass of water and went out on the balcony to read.

Gabe woke up into darkness, propped uncomfortably on the bare plastic
chaise lounge. The diaries lay digested, closed and stacked neatly at his
side. The sky was black--he could not be sure how long ago the sun had
set. He stood at the railing and looked down at the towers and the bit of
water fluttering between them. The breeze moved evenly against his face. It
was not cold out, yet he no longer sweated into his t-shirt. He gathered up
the diaries and went inside. Hunger had struck again.

Eddie returned just before three in the morning and gaped at the new wall
of items stacked methodically in the living area. "Wow, you've gotten a lot
done."

"Didn't have anything better to do."

"You tired?"

"No."

"Good. We need to talk about work. Got any coffee?"

Was Eddie serious? At this point, it was the only topic he could handle
discussing--more than that, he desperately wanted to. He brewed a plump
glass pot and placed it on a crocheted holder between them, among the piles
of clutter on the dinner table. They faced one another across an expanse of
oak and blue inlaid tiles.

Eddie poured himself a cup, cleared his throat. "I've been meaning to talk
to you about work for some time, Gabe. At first, I thought this whole thing
with your mother would postpone it even longer, but instead it's given
things some new urgency. Look, I'm impressed with the way you've conducted
yourself over the past year. You've maintained the preliminary
distance. You've been diligent about it. But it's time to drop all that."

Was it really all going to come this easily? "I agree, Eddie. One hundred
percent."

Eddie smiled. "In that case, why don't I let you ask the questions?"

Gabe had no idea where to start. He had too many questions--there were
countless mysteries he had at times begun to ponder before stopping
himself, scolding himself. He grasped indiscriminately out for something,
anything, grabbed it: "Are we a gang?" Out in the open, the question
sounded hopelessly childish, though Eddie seemed unmoved.

"No, we are not a gang. We have no name. You are not beaten within inches
of your life to be a part of us. But like a gang, our activity often roams
outside of the law. I'm sure you know that much."

"I do. But I still don't know what it is."

Eddie nodded and sipped his coffee. "And that is what impresses me the
most. Are you sure you're ready to know?"

"Yes, I'm ready."

Eddie took a breath, rolled his massive shoulders. "It is the trafficking
and partial manufacturing of three things: primarily cocaine and heroin,
and occasionally methamphetamine."

For one second, Gabe could not breathe. "Okay," he said in a flat voice,
suppressing a general urge to react. He did not intend to appear shaken,
wouldn't allow it. He had known. Of course he had--maybe not about the last
one, but the other two... He had specifically avoided considering the
prospect of either in the past, thereby subconsciously acknowledging the
possibly of both. And what about that last one? It was admittedly a bit
jarring, especially when presented through Eddie's clinical, long-form
enunciation: Methamphetamine.

The room was quiet.

Eddie sipped his coffee once more, rotated the mug on the surface of the
table. "You have an amazing knack for self-control, Gabe. You know that?"

"I'm don't think that's true."

"I think it is."

"Eddie," Gabe began. He looked down at the table, drug his finger over the
pale grout between the tiles. "Am I different from the other workers?"

When Eddie didn't answer right away, Gabe thought maybe his question had
been unclear. But finally he spoke up. "You are Marco's son. Because of
that, you will automatically be different from them--there's no escaping
that. The encampment laborers are expected to keep their heads down and do
the jobs placed in front of them. That's it. When you drive away, they have
no idea where you're headed. They don't know where the warehouse is. In
fact, they don't even know there is a warehouse."

"But Miguel knows, obviously."

"Yes, Miguel is also different from them. Your father saw a special quality
in Miguel. I did, too. He's been given far more authority than the
others. But there are still many things he doesn't know." Eddie sighed,
leaning slightly in. "Gabe, I learned much of what I know only after your
father died. There's a lot that goes on in this operation, and the
hierarchy of authorization is not simple. You should know, by the way, that
I am nowhere near the top."

"Where in the hierarchy do you intend for me to be?"

Eddie rubbed his temples. "That's the big question, isn't it? Some things
have come up recently, things I'm still sorting out. There's stuff your
father knew that I still don't, if you can believe it." Eddie paused,
apparently thinking something over. "I'm tempted to say that I'll get back
to you on that, Gabe. But I already know what my answer will be. It's
become a question of your own safety."

"My safety?"

"Yes. I can't fill you in on everything at once. But over the next week or
two, you'll need to know everything I know. Gabe, listen to me--I know this
is a difficult time for you. Do you think this is something you can handle,
on top of everything else, I mean?"

His answer was automatic. "Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, but what's going on? What's made all of this so sudden?"

In Eddie's dark eyes, Gabe swore he saw a flash of panic. But the man only
sat back and calmly repeated, "Some things have come up. Just recently."

"What things, Eddie?"

"Give me a few days to sort all this out. I think it's a little too much
right now."

"Too much for who? I can handle this, Eddie. I'll be fine. Besides, you
said this is about my safety. Shouldn't I know, if it's about my own
safety?"

Eddie shook his head. "Your life is not in any kind of immediate
danger. It's not like that. Look, I've only recently received all this
information. I haven't had time to make heads or tails of it."

"Then why bother bringing it up at all? All you're doing now is telling me
that you can't tell me anything. It's not fair."

"Whether something is fair or not isn't a determination you are allowed to
make. Gabe, for our safety and protection, this relationship must be
fluid. It's going to have to change. But as it does so, I'll ask you not to
forget your place."

Gabe lowered his head a little. "I'm sorry. I won't let it happen again."

Eddie was quiet, yet his mind seemed to be clicking away as the seconds
gathered. "Alright, let me at least tell you this: It's about that man you
met, Don Hughes... Your father also answered to him, but their working
relationship was not a simple one. These days, I'm meeting with Hughes more
and more often, and he is my primary source of knowledge pertaining to the
larger operation. But there are also private files your father kept, which
I believe are completely unknown to Hughes. The information in these files
has given me reason to question Hughes' integrity. During our recent
meetings, I have been attempting to confirm my suspicions of him while
remaining inconspicuous. It has been a very delicate process. Do you follow
the circumstances I'm describing?"

"Yes I do."

"Good. We will have more to talk about very soon, I promise. In the
meantime, I need you to focus on the personal aspects of your life. We'll
get through this--all of this--but in order for that to happen, you need to
be emotionally well. If you're not, you need to tell me, so that we can
arrange some help for you in that way. When people who are not in good
health attempt to work, they invariably make mistakes. We can't let that
happen, understood?"

"Yes, Eddie. Understood."

--

Though Gabe was aware of alcohol's supposed tendency to make difficult
conversations easier, he lacked any personal experiences to confirm it, at
least up until now. As a new warmth began flooding his chest, he knew it
must be true. His small talk with Miguel, seated across from him in a dim
booth at the back of Pub Odessa, grew larger by the minute. This, after
Miguel had greeted their server by her first name--she wore no name
tag--and then said, "What was it you wanted, Gabe? A gin and tonic?" Gabe
had faltered for an instant before nodding his head, and then Miguel had
turned back to her: "We'll have doubles."

Gabe had at first been offended, then grateful, and now, as their discourse
approached a new level of comfort, looked down into his drink and muttered,
"I'm sorry I was cold to you in the car."

"I hadn't noticed," Miguel told him. "Anyway it's not like I actually care
where you come from." He threw a despondent look down at his glass. "I
don't even care where I come from."

"It's just that I don't come from anywhere. I was born in the city--in the
south valley--and then moved into a nicer place in the markets when I was
too young to remember. I don't know any other place."

"I totally get it. I don't mean that you actually come from someplace
else."

Gabe looked around, saw tarnish on the brass bars dividing the booths, dust
on the hunter-green metal lampshades hanging low over each table. "How
often do you come here?"

"All the time. I know the owner."

Gabe nodded, noticing the way Miguel had settled in, laying his thick,
muscled arm out across the top of the booth as if it were creeping around
the shoulder of some invisible person.

"So you were right before, in the car. I'm mixed."

Miguel shrugged. "Thought you might be."

"My father was from Mexico."

"Thought he might be."

Gabe took yet another gulp of his drink, felt another surge of warmth in
his chest. "I'm on strict orders from Eddie to share a couple things with
you tonight."

"Alright. What do you have for me?"

Gabe's tone became careful, as if testing the legitimacy of their peculiar
surroundings--down to the black-and-white checkered floor itself, which
felt as if it could drop out from under them at any second. "I am supposed
to tell you my full name, which is Gabe Marcos Villanueva."

For a short time, Miguel continued nodding along as if Gabe told him what
brand of shoe he wore. But then he stopped moving, even appeared to stop
breathing, his face frozen in stunned recognition. "You wouldn't tell me
that for any reason other than--you know, other than what it seems like,
right?"

"No, Miguel. It's what you're thinking. You know how this whole business
is. You were never supposed to find out. I was always told it was better if
no one knew."

"You look like him," Miguel said, his voice urgent. "You look exactly like
him."

"Not that many people think so."

"He was such a good guy. Marco--Big Boss, I mean--he was the kind of guy
you could really respect." Miguel put his hands together. "You know what?
He told me once he had a son. Never said how old, but I just assumed he
would still be a little kid, even now. God, I feel so stupid."

"You shouldn't. You weren't supposed to know it was me."

"Fine, but now that I do--man, I mean it's pretty fucking hard to
miss. God, you look just the same as him." Miguel gave an excited
laugh. "It's almost like Big Boss lives on."

"Don't think about it that way. I'm just going to disappoint you."

"That's not what I meant. Absolutely no expectations coming from this side
of the table. Man, I'm the last person to ever assume someone will end up
like their father. In fact, I'll shut up about it right now."

Gabe was relieved as Miguel dropped the subject, but he sensed that the
nature of their interaction had, for better or worse, changed
forever. Miguel now stayed hooked more firmly on Gabe's every word, seemed
hungry to know what he might utter next. Gabe knew of the gruff authority
his own speech naturally carried--how mismatched it was to his small
stature, exactly as it had been to his fathers'. Maybe Miguel had noticed
even this resemblance. But in any case, Gabe had his full attention. It was
a powerful feeling, which Gabe was alarmed to find he enjoyed, even if it
meant riding squarely on the coattails of his father. He took another sip
and continued, "At first, Eddie wanted to tell you all of this himself, but
then he decided it would be better if you heard it from me."

"Seems kind of weird, doesn't it?"

Okay, thought Gabe, perhaps Miguel's attention was not the same thing as
his respect. "I don't know," he deflected. "I just know that Eddie decided
it was better this way. Anyway, he tells me you have also met Don Hughes."

Miguel nodded. "He meets me at the warehouse every two weeks. It's been
that way since I started. Kind of a frightening guy."

"Eddie wants you to know that Hughes' motivations are not as simple as
maximizing the efficiency of our production and distribution. He has his
hand in many different operations. Apparently our direct competitors are
not excluded from that group."

Miguel scoffed. "I could have figured that much on my own."

"Sure. I know. But Eddie just wants you to keep it in mind when dealing
with Hughes. Don't give him any information he didn't ask for--those were
Eddie's exact words. You know, in case something were to slip--"

"Nothing will slip. I wouldn't let that happen. Tell Eddie that nothing
will slip, okay?"

"I think he'll be checking in with you soon, so you can tell him yourself."

Miguel nodded into his glass.

"Also, Eddie's still trying to figure out exactly what was going on, but
Hughes and my father did not get along. Especially not toward the end."

He sat up. "You don't think there's any connection--"

"No," Gabe interrupted. "I don't think that. Eddie says there's absolutely
no reason to assume any foul play." But even as Gabe asserted this, he felt
himself begin to tremble.

Miguel lowered his voice, crouched low over the table. "Don't you think
it's at least a little suspicious? I mean, they never found out who did
it."

"You say that like I don't know," he blurted out, struggling to reign in
his feverish discomfort at Miguel's remarks. "Really, I don't think we
should be suspicious unless we have reason to be. And Eddie says we
don't. We should stop talking about it."

"I'm sorry. I'll stop." Miguel cast a morose look over Gabe's shoulder and
then tipped his drink skyward. He really did look sorry. "I'm glad you were
the one to tell me who you really are. It's nice to hear it straight from
you. But this stuff about Hughes...I don't know. You'd think Eddie would
want to tell me about that himself."

Clearly Miguel was not going to let this one go. Gabe placed a hand flat on
the table. "He wants us to get more comfortable talking to each other. I
think this is his way of making that happen."

Miguel started laughing. "Do you think it's working?"

Gabe did not see what was so funny about it, but he forced a quiet laugh to
show that he was not still upset. At least Miguel seemed to be relaxed.

"Hey, I'm all for it," he went on. "You're a nice guy, and this is a good
excuse for drinks, so unless you have any more secrets up your sleeve,
let's get another round."

"I can't. I have to drive the car back tonight."

"Of course you do." Miguel sat back and stirred the ice in his glass, his
eyes flitting black and forth between it and Gabe's face. "Does it really
matter where the car is parked, though? It's good for a whole day in that
garage."

Gabe supposed it didn't. He looked over at his companion, who was nothing
if not tenacious. Miguel asked questions without shame or hesitation,
behavior that usually irritated Gabe. But wasn't there something attractive
about Miguel's particular brand of it? It fit him somehow, slotted into the
strangely admirable way he carried himself. Gabe knew (and had probably
known for a long time) that this irritation was not actually derived from
Miguel or people like him, but from within himself, for his constant state
of fear, for his immutable tendency to shy away from all manner of
confrontation.

So he changed his mind: "You're right, it'll be fine. Let's get another
round." His choice was immediately rewarded as Miguel sat up, tan arms
flexing in his excitement, grin spreading across his face. Maybe Gabe had
been attracted to Miguel for a long time, or maybe it could not have been
considered real attraction until now. No matter the case, he felt it
pulling him with a new, raw veracity, knew that he couldn't deny it--that
maybe he didn't want to. Eddie's words came to mind now, those words meant
only for him: Stop hating yourself, Gabe. Don't feel so ashamed.

After another drink, the glowing fuzz around the rims of the lampshades
began to grow thick, interacting with the smoky air; on the walls,
innocuous paintings and photos of ships and sailboats seemed on the verge
of coming to life, and the sharp edges of Miguel's personality softened a
bit.

"I got into it because of your dad," Miguel was saying. "He found
me. Actually he rescued me."

"When was this?"

"Maybe eighteen months before you started."

"I don't get it--he just found you?"

"I was sleeping underground. It was winter, so I had been doing that off
and on to get out of the rain. But that night it wasn't raining. I was just
drunk off my ass. I think my plan had been to make it to the beach and
sleep on the sand, but I was kicked off the train in Joyce. I must have
picked a fight with someone, because they don't throw you off just for
being shit-faced on that line. Anyway, your dad caught the train at Senna
Road. Just stepped down from the street and there I was, passed out on the
floor."

"What was my dad doing in Joyce?"

"They used to keep the delivery car there. It's funny, because your dad
rarely did the drop-offs then--that was Boss Man's job. But Eddie was sick
or something, so your dad was filling in for him. I got pretty lucky, if
you think about it. I mean, can you picture Eddie stopping for my sorry
ass?"

"Not really."

"Not really? Fuck, man, Eddie won't talk to anyone he doesn't have to. It
just wouldn't have happened. But it wasn't Eddie, it was your dad."

"How did he get you to go with him?"

Miguel smiled, covering part of his face with his hand. "I actually thought
I was being picked up...like...for sex."

Before Gabe could react, a third drink was placed in front of him.

"Oh, shit," said Miguel. "Did you want something else?"

Gabe told him it was fine. "Wait, so if that's what you thought, why did
you go with him?"

Miguel smiled faintly, as if recalling a fond, distant memory. But what he
said was, "Clearly I was in a bad place, wasn't I?"

Gabe took another drink. He imagined that his own face registered no
reaction at all, a feat he would normally be hard-pressed to perform. Were
all of these drinks doubles? Would that make this his fifth (and sixth)?
The roomed tipped slightly to one side, but then Gabe realized he had begun
leaning and straightened up.

"Anyway," continued Miguel, "obviously he had no intention of sleeping with
me. I spent the next day sobering up in his apartment, and after that, when
he saw I wasn't a complete loser, he started talking to me
about...well...about what I do now. To this day, I still don't get why he
trusted me. I mean, I knew he could, but I don't know how he knew."

"He had a sense for that kind of thing."

Miguel nodded energetically. "He did, didn't he? Man, I never knew anyone
who could read people like Big Boss could."  He disappeared into his glass
for a few seconds.

"Wait, you said he took to you his apartment. What apartment was this?"

Miguel was careful to correct himself. "It was part of the operation, used
as a meeting place in the city. I just mean that the lease was in your
dad's name."

Gabe wondered if it had really been as simple as that. He remembered times
when his father had spent the occasional night away, even when he had not
left the city on business. "But he slept there sometimes, didn't he?"

"There was a bed there, but I was never aware of him using it. He could
have at some point. It's where I slept, at first. He actually left me alone
that first night. Can you believe that? I could've been anyone. I could
have torn the place apart. Anyway, later on, he arranged another apartment
for me in the same building, a few floors up. I'm still there--you should
come see it. It's got an enviable view of the Poo."

Gabe laughed. Port of Odinberg was the foul, industrial sibling of Port of
Las Sombras. These days, the latter's clean blue waters were better
equipped to handle cruises than containers, and there was less actual
industry surrounding it than untold numbers of tourist shops and hotels
attempting to invoke its (admittedly real, but distant) industrial past.

Gabe straightened himself up for a second time. "Hey, the Poo gets a bad
name for itself, but that's where all the work gets done."

Miguel raised his glass to the sentiment. "I bet you have a nice view of
the ocean if you live in the markets."

"Not really. I live a ways inland. They put up new towers that block it."

"Oh, you must live in the real markets, then."

"There are no more real markets. Tourists finally climbed the hill. But
yeah, I guess so."

"Tourists aren't so bad," said Miguel. "They have money, and they spend
it."

Gabe nodded, realizing all of a sudden that he'd had enough to drink. "No
more," he said, indicating toward his dwindling glass. "I'm good after this
one."

"Absolutely."

As Miguel left to flag down their server, Gabe wondered about what it meant
to be in the kind of bad place Miguel had described...getting drunk in the
evenings, being kicked off of trains, sleeping on the street and under
it. Apparently his behavior had also included sleeping with strange men. It
was clear that Miguel was in better shape these days. Obviously all of
these habits were long put to rest...weren't they? He slept in a real bed,
in this port-view home of his, was probably sober most of the time head
fell to pillow. And as for having sex with other guys...that practice had
likely died along with everything else--wasn't that how these things
usually went?

Gabe had read a book once about a man whose life was stuck in a state
similar to what Miguel had described. This man lived on the streets of
1970s London and became drunk every night. He slept with anyone,
indiscriminate of their sex, physical traits or even hygienic habits. His
only requirement was that they were connected on a cosmic level that the
man could sense, but which never fully became clear to the reader. The man
was profoundly unhappy. Eventually he pulled himself together and cleaned
up his life, marring a woman whom, the narrator suggested, he would remain
faithful to for the rest of his life. And so it went.

Gabe slouched dreamily in the booth when Miguel came back to him. He looked
up.

"Come over to my place tonight. It's a short walk from here."

Gabe considered Miguel's bright and encouraging face for a few seconds,
took in his kind brown eyes and tidy features. A fleeting accusation
bubbled at his core: You know how handsome you are, and you know exactly
what you are doing. But then he lost his grasp of whatever concern had
possessed him, leaving it behind forever. "Okay, I think I can do that."

Outside, the night air was no longer steaming with heat. They walked along
without talking for a few minutes, but then they came to an alley and
Miguel said, "Let's cut through here." Gabe stopped dead, peered through
the rusty web of fire escapes, past a shunted row of dumpsters and saw it
standing there, near the opening to the next street. That strange cold glow
flickered from deep inside its eye sockets, drawing his gaze impossibly
near to it. He could confirm now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there
were no lips left on its face, just that inscrutable grin.

Gabe looked quickly down at the sidewalk. It took every ounce of his will
not to bring up his hands, to further shield his face from the thing. How
was this possible? Why would it choose now of all moments, in the midst of
his blissful insobriety? It had been gone for the last few weeks--a
mysterious absence, since it surely knew he was weak. He turned to face the
clean, wide open street and asked, as calmly as he could (and with great
effort, since his mouth seemed barely able to keep up), "Can we go around?
I don't like alleys."

Miguel seemed to puzzle over this for a second before saying, "Of
course. We can go around."

Relief settled in so completely that Gabe knew, had he dared one more
glance down the cluttered alley, it would be gone. But he could not bring
himself to look.

~~~

END OF PART 3

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