Chapter Twenty Four

Kinsey moved Zach's car into the driveway and parked his own behind it. The Mustang wasn't exactly camouflaged, but it was less noticeable than it had been sitting in the middle of the front yard. He settled Trevor and Zach in his bedroom, then folded himself onto the couch. He had only been in bed for two hours when the Mustang pulled up in his yard, and he had to open the club later. Soon he was asleep again, his dreams blessedly free from blaring, whining horns and the smell of engine grease.

In the bedroom, Trevor lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling. His splinted hand felt heavy and remote. Zach was nestled into the crook of his left arm, legs thrown over Trevor's, fingers idly playing with Trevor's hair. They had each taken one of the painkillers the doctor had prescribed for them, and they were numb but contented. Enough so, eventually, to talk about the night before.

“What were you wearing there? ” Zach asked.

“A suit with wide lapels. A tie. And fancy shoes. ”

“Me too. But I had a beret. ”

“You were Dizzy. ”

“Huh? ”

“Dizzy Gillespie. Bobby used to look at pictures of him and Charlie Parker to draw his characters' clothes. They always wore these real sharp suits. ”

“We were in the same place, weren't we? ”

“We were in Birdland. ”

“What does that mean? ”

“It means we were inside my father's brain. Or we were in hell. Or we were hallucinating. How the fuck should I know? You were there. You saw it. ”

There was a silence. Trevor wondered if he had spoken too sharply, but he did not want to pick apart what had happened in the house, not yet. He wasn't sure he ever would.

Finally Zach asked, “Where should we go next? ” His voice was beginning to fade out. He pressed his face into the side of Trevor's chest and closed his eyes.

“Have a dream, ” Trevor told him, “and make it be about a beach. It has pure white sand and clear turquoise water, and the sun feels like warm honey on your skin. Stop someone on the beach and ask them where you are. Then remember it, and we'll go there. ”

“Ohhh, yes. . . ” He felt Zach's body relax completely. ”. . . love you, Trev. . . ”

“I love you too, ” he whispered into the cool silence of the room. It was true, it was all true, and they could both be alive to believe it. Trevor was still amazed by this knowledge.

You could kill someone because you loved them too much, he realized now, but that was nothing to do with art. The art was in learning to spend your life with someone, in having the courage to be creative with someone, to melt each other's souls to molten temperatures and let them flow together into an alloy that could withstand the world. He and Zach had used each other's addictions to hurl themselves into Birdland. But addictions could fuel talents, and talents surely fueled love. And what else had brought them back but love?

Zach's breathing was slow, even: a wholly peaceful sound. Trevor wondered if he might be able to sleep too. He let his body settle into Zach's, synchronized his breathing and his heartbeat with Zach's.

Minutes later he was as deeply asleep as he had ever been, and his sleep was dreamless.

Dougal's ancient station wagon pulled up in front of Kinsey's house. Eddy saw the black Mustang in the driveway, and her heart leapt. “That's Zach's car! ”

Terry and Dougal followed her up the walk. Terry knocked, waited, knocked louder. Eddy could not make herself stand still. After a few agonizing minutes, the door opened a crack and a bright blue eye peered out. Then it swung all the way open, and a very tall, very thin man in rumpled pajamas smiled Wearily at them. “Mornin', Terry. ” He nodded at Eddy and Dougal, then stood there rubbing his long skinny jaw and looking politely puzzled.

“Mornin', ” said Terry without a trace of irony, though it was just past three P. M. “Kinsey, it seems we got some trouble. These are Zach's friends from New Orleans, and his enemies aren't far behind. ”

“Well, come on in, sit down. Zach's asleep. Trevor too. ” Kinsey ushered them through the door.

Terry made introductions, then told Kinsey about his run-in with the agents. Eddy stared around the cozy living room. Her thoughts were speeding out of control: Zach's in this house, I'm going to see him, I'm going to save him. . .

“What did you do after the show last night, anyway? ” Kinsey asked.

“We ate mushrooms and watched a movie. Trevor and Zach went home, but Calvin gave them some 'shrooms too. ” Terry frowned. “Why? ”

“Well, they met up with some kind of accident. ”

“The car looks okay. ”

“Something happened in the house. ”

“I knew it! ” Terry slapped his forehead. “That damn place is haunted! I went in there once, me and Steve and R. J., and you wouldn't even believe what we saw—”

“What? ” said a quiet new voice. “What did you see? ”

Everyone turned. A young man with long ginger-blond hair stood in the hall doorway. His right hand was splinted and swathed in bandages. He was shirtless, and his cotton pants rode low on his hips as if he had just tugged them on one-handed. His pale intense eyes rested briefly on Eddy and Dougal, then moved back to Terry.

“Hey, Trevor. ” “Terry looked embarrassed. “I, uh, I'd rather not tell you what I saw, if you don't mind. I shouldn't have been talking about it. ”

“That's okay, ” said Trevor. He glanced at the newcomers again. “Who're these? ”

“Well. . . ”

“We're from New Orleans, ” Eddy interrupted. “We're friends of Zach's. If you're his friend too, we need your help. ”

Trevor's eyes narrowed. He looked at Kinsey, who shrugged. “What do you want? ”

Eddy could tell by the way he said it that he had slept with Zach. What a surprise.

“How much do you know? ” she asked him.

“Everything. ”

“Prove it. ”

“I remember now. You're Eddy. He left you ten thousand dollars as a going-away present. ” He looked at Dougal. “And you're the guy from the French Market. I don't remember your name. ”

At least he mentioned me, Eddy thought bleakly. But something was odd here; this Trevor didn't seem like one of Zach's one-night stands. He looked intelligent and talked as if he had a brain. And Zach evidently trusted him a lot.

“Is he all right? ” she asked.

“He will be. ” Trevor stared at her. “Tell me what you want. ”

“Trev? What's going on? ” A pair of skinny arms appeared out of the dark hallway and encircled Trevor from behind. A moment later, Zach peered over Trevor's shoulder. His face was sleep-webbed, naked without his glasses. From what Eddy could see, he wore nothing but a pair of skimpy black underwear. He squinted at the roomful of people. When he made out Eddy and Dougal, his eyes went almost comically wide. “Fuck! I think I'm hallucinating again! ”

“No, you're not. They're really here. ” Trevor guided Zach to the couch, sat him down beside Kinsey, then sat on his other side and put a protective arm around his shoulders. “They haven't said why, though. ”

“We want you to leave with us, ” said Eddy. She looked at no one but Zach, though she couldn't tell if he was really seeing her or not. He seemed unfocused, not quite there. “The cops raided your apartment. They also arrested your friend Stefan, who ratted on you just as fast as he could. Now they're in Missing Mile. We can help you get away. ”

“Hey, Ed. Hey, Dougal. It's great to see you. Uh. . . where would you take us? ”

“Us? ”

Zach stared at the floor, then back up at Eddy. A fog seemed to clear from his green eyes, and she saw the old evil spark. He was in there after all. “Yeah, Ed. Us. Me and Trevor. If there's a problem with that, I guess we'll have to get away on our own. ”

He laid his hand on Trevor's leg, high up on the inside of his thigh, and looked evenly at her. There was no trace of guilt in his expression. She supposed guilt simply wasn't part of his genetic makeup.

“Just tell me how you could do it, ” she said.

“Do what? ”

“Fall in love so fast after refusing to do it for nineteen years, you ass! ”

Zach shook his head. Eddy could see that this question honestly bewildered him, and that hurt most of all, because she knew exactly how he felt. “I don't know, ” Zach said. “I just found the right person. ”

She looked at Trevor, who met her gaze steadily. His eyes were so clear that Eddy thought she could look straight through them to his brain. Was that what made Zach love him? She imagined those lips kissing Zach, those graceful long-fingered hands touching him, Zach's head resting on that smooth bony chest. There was chemistry between them, and passion; it was obvious just watching them sit together.

“Okay, ” she said. “Fine. I hope it makes you happy. I'm going outside for a few minutes. You guys decide what you want to do, and let me know. ” Eddy stood up and groped her way out of the room with tears blinding her eyes, found herself in the hall, then in a bedroom. She was sobbing now, unable to see anything, barely able to breathe. She stumbled back into the hall, nearly tripped over her own feet, then felt a large, gentle hand on her shoulder, a tall form looming behind her. Kinsey.

“Back door's this way, ” he said, and guided her into the kitchen.

“Th-thank you. . . I'm sorry to freak out in your house. . . ”

“No apology needed. I understand. ” He opened the door for her. “The yard's very private. Stay as long as you like. ”

“I don't think we have long. ”

“I'll try to get them moving, ” he promised.

Eddy sat on the back steps for several minutes, staring into the jungle of the yard, letting the tears course freely down her face. She believed Zach really was in love; that was the hell of it. She could see it in his face and Trevor's, in the way their bodies touched. And she didn't think Zach would lie to her about such a thing. It was easy enough to understand. She hadn't been what Zach wanted. Trevor was.

But she still didn't want to see him go to prison. She still had to help him.

Eventually her tears dried up, and she sat with her chin propped on her fist, watching a bee circle Kinsey's overgrown, zucchini-laden garden, savoring the country quiet. She loved the French Quarter, but sometimes it was difficult to think there, what with all the street musicians and exploding bottles and screaming queens and blaring traffic. And if there was anything Eddy needed just now, it was time to think.

Left to their own devices, the ragged crew in the house would sit around talking until Agent Cover showed up with his minions. But by the time she stood up and went back inside, Eddy had a plan.

“So where would we go? ” Zach asked Dougal.

Dougal favored him with a crooked white grin. “I fly you home wit' me, mon. You always say you wan' go get lost in Jamaica someday. ”

“Jamaica? ” Zach turned to Trevor. “That's where I dreamed about. Like you told me to. I was walking down a clean white beach with bright green palm trees and a guy said 'Ganja, smart ganja' so I stopped—”

“That's Jamaica, ” Dougal assured him. “Always got de smart ganja. I got some now if you wan' it. ” Zach and Terry nodded. Dougal rolled another bomber and passed it around. Soon the room was filled with sweet herbal smoke.

“Goddammit, are you all just going to sit around and get STONED? ”

Eddy stood in the doorway, arms akimbo, face tearstained and royally pissed and lovely. He had missed her since he left, Zach realized, and he would miss her wherever he was going. She was so tough.

“The Secret Service is ALL OVER TOWN! The agent in charge of your case showed up at Terry's record store! ” She crossed the room to Zach, grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. “Don't you think you better GET GOING?! ”

Trevor knocked her hand away. “He has a concussion! Leave him alone! ”

“Well, if you don't move your asses, he'll have plenty of time to recover in a jail cell! Is that what you want? ”

“You guys shut up. Please. ” Zach scowled and rubbed his temples, trying to clear his head. “She's right, Trev. If they're already here, we have to go. ”

Zach stared miserably up at Eddy. “I'm sorry about all this, Ed. I wish I could do something to make it up to you. ”

“Give me your car. ”

“Huh? ”

“You heard me. Give me your car. I've always liked it, and you won't be needing it anymore. Dougal can take you back to Louisiana to catch your plane. Do you think you could get into Louisiana DMV again and register the car to me? ”

“Well. . . sure. What are you gonna do? ”

“Drive through downtown and try to lure them after me. I'll go east on 42 while you guys sneak out of town the other way. They won't be looking for Dougal's car. ”

All five men stared at her with wide awed eyes. Finally Terry said timidly, “Won't they chase you down and arrest you? ”

“I'll lead them as far as I can. Maybe they'll arrest me, but maybe they won't have a damn thing to charge me with if they can't prove Zach was ever here. I'll say the Mustang was mine all along, and the computer will back me up. Right? ”

“Right, ” Zach said.

“After that, who knows? I may drive to California. I may meet William S. Burroughs in Kansas. I may wind up stranded in Idaho. I don't really care. I just want some time alone. ”

She pulled her key ring out of her pocket and tossed it to Dougal. “You know where my apartment is. You and the rest of the French Market gang can have everything in it. Zach, do you want anything out of your car? ”

“Umm. . . no, I've got my bag. ”

“Then could some of you guys come help me unload it? I don't want to get busted with a hot computer and a bunch of boys' clothes. ”

“I'll take everything to Potter's Store, ” Kinsey offered.

“Keep the computer, ” Zach told him. “It's got all kinds of good stuff on the hard drive. You'll never have to pay a bill again. ”

“Thanks, but I'll pass. ”

“I'll take it, ” said Terry.

The others carried five loads in from the Mustang while Zach dialed up the Louisiana DMV computer and made the necessary changes, plus a couple of embellishments. Eddy selected several items from the piles of Zach's stuff: a bulky army jacket, a pair of sunglasses, the broadbrimmed black hat Dougal had sold Zach in the French Market less than a week ago. When she put these things on, it was obvious that from a distance she could easily pass for Zach.

Eddy walked over to the sofa. “Excuse me, ” she said to Trevor, and leaned down and kissed Zach square on the lips. Then she turned and went to the front door and smiled back at them. It was a rather rueful smile, but not a bitter one.

“It's been nice knowing all of you, ” she said. “Really it has. Good luck to you. I think you'll all need it. Give me about ten minutes' head start. ”

The door closed noiselessly behind her. A few moments later they heard the smooth purr of the Mustang pulling out of the driveway.

Everyone gazed uncertainly at each other. Then Trevor asked Zach, “Did you really dream about Jamaica? ”

Zach started to nod, winced, and said, “Yes. ”

“Then let's go. ”

They looked up to see Kinsey, Terry, and even Dougal grinning like proud parents at a wedding.

“Maybe we got time for jus' one more little smoke, ” said Dougal. “I t'ink we got somet'ing to celebrate. ”

Eddy drove along Kinsey's road, stopped the car for a long moment at the intersection, then turned right at Farmers Hardware onto Firehouse Street. She didn't know where the agents were or what their cars would look like, but she figured she could make them see her.

She tugged the black hat down over her face, pushed the sunglasses up on her nose, and gathered every particle of her nerve. She was going to have to do some fancy driving. But the car could take it; Zach had once driven her down Highway 10 at a hundred twenty miles per hour. And she could take it too.

She was sick of hot, humid weather that sapped the strength but teased the libido. For that matter, she was sick of the libido. She was sick of beautiful boys, geeks, and the assorted mutants that fell somewhere in between. She was going to have adventures she damn well felt like having, ones that didn't depend on some man. One way or another, this would be the first.

She saw the Whirling Disc up ahead on her left. Halfway through downtown now. They'd had plenty of time to notice the car, plenty of time to read the license plate if Stefan had been able to give them that.

Eddy revved the engine, stomped the gas, and went blasting through Missing Mile. The needle jittered up to sixty, seventy-five, eighty. She glanced in her rearview mirror, saw three white Chevy vans pulling away from the curb behind her, and let out a howl of pure triumph.

They hit the open road going ninety. Eddy kept pushing the Mustang, watched the vans fall behind. She tried to keep the needle steady at a hundred. She didn't want to lose them too fast, not until Dougal's creaky old station wagon had had plenty of time to slip out the other way.

Eddy turned on the tape player, cranked up the volume. “YORE CHEATIN' HAWRRRRRT, ” whined Hank Williams. She hit the EJECT button, risked a glance at the other tapes on the dashboard, tossed Hank in the back seat, and slapped on Patsy Cline.

Crazy. Crazy for lovin' you. . .

Not anymore, kiddo.

Maybe they would catch her. But they couldn't keep her; her money and her car were no longer traceable to Zach. She trusted him on that one. And after that, she would go where she wanted.

Eddy saw a wide, bright highway heading west, with the marvelous clean flatlands beginning to unfurl before her wheels. Prairie, mesa, desert stark and dry as a bone, stretching all the way to the Pacific Ocean.

It was hers to have, and she wanted it.

Thursday night and Friday morning were a long confusing blur. Zach remembered getting dressed, Kinsey and Terry hugging him, then climbing into the back seat of Dougal's station wagon and promptly falling asleep in Trevor's lap.

Somewhere near Atlanta, he thought, Dougal stopped the car in a pretty little suburb and ushered them into a houseful of Jamaicans. A Hefty garbage bag full of fragrant marijuana sat in the middle of the living-room floor and massive joints were constantly being rolled. They were given bowls of spicy goat stew and glasses of fresh ginger beer. From the boom box in the corner, Bob Marley sang that every little thing was gonna be all right. Zach was beginning to believe him.

They all grabbed a couple of hours' sleep. Then Dougal drove straight through to South Louisiana. “Lay low, Zachary, ” he thought he remembered hearing Dougal whisper once. “We pretty close to New Orleans now. But we be at Colin's soon. ” Then nothing but green swamp light for miles and miles, and Trevor holding him all the way.

They arrived at Colin's place at dusk. It was a small shack deep in the swamp, surrounded by still water, bright green vines and other vegetation, great moss-encrusted stands of cypress and oak. Out back in a large cleared area was the runway. It was built atop the mud, Zach thought, on the same basic principle as a cracker balanced on toothpicks sunk into a dish of thick pudding. On the runway sat Colin's plane, so small and spindly it looked like a toy. They would be taking off in the morning. They stared at the ramshackle contraption, then at each other. “Adventure, ” Zach murmured, and Trevor nodded.

Colin was a wiry, jet-black Rastafarian with dreadlocks hanging halfway to his waist. The inside of his shack was a single large room with sleeping bags on the floor. Trevor and Zach crawled into a single bag and fell asleep. Dougal and Colin sat up most of the night, talking and smoking.

They climbed the steps into the cargo hold at dawn. Zach's stomach dropped as he felt the wheels leave the ground. But once they were in the air the motion was soothing, lulling him back to sleep with the weight of America lifting off his back.

He woke up once on the flight to the sound of someone gagging, realized it was himself. Trevor was awkwardly holding his head up while Dougal offered him a neat little plastic-lined bag to puke in. “Colin keep these in de plane, ” Dougal explained. “It's jus' de Bermuda Triangle make some people sick a little. Soon pass. ”

Zach felt horrible. His food-deprived body must have sucked up the goat stew already; he only had the dry heaves. Soon the nausea subsided a little. Dougal handed him a smoldering joint and he dragged on it gratefully. “We're over the Bermuda Triangle? ”

“Jus' a little on de edge. ”

Zach handed the joint back to Dougal, who crawled up to the cockpit to pass it to Colin. He closed his eyes and leaned back against Trevor. “What do you think, Trev? ” he whispered. “Am I a fun date or what? ”

He was pretty sure he knew the answer. But he fell back asleep before he could hear it.

Sometime later Trevor shook him awake and gripped his hand. The plane was full of light. Dougal motioned them toward the cockpit. Peering over the pilot's mass of dreadlocks, Zach could see a calm clear expanse of water the color of turquoise, a stretch of beach like a wide white ribbon unfurling out of sight, a lush green country in the distance.

The place he had seen in his dreams. A place for him and his lover to get lost together.

“Welcome home, ” said the Rasta man.

One Month Later

The asphalt of Firehouse Street had begun to soften in the July heat by the time Kinsey let himself into the Sacred Yew. The summer had gotten hotter and wetter until all the days seemed to run together in a long soggy blur. It would continue like this straight on through September. Kinsey could not bring himself to concoct any dinner specials; one did not want to cook in this weather, did not even want to eat.

The Secret Service agents had come back at the end of June to ask more questions. It seemed they had been mistaken about the car Zach drove, and were now looking for a tan Malibu registered in his name. Of course, no one in Missing Mile knew anything. None of the kids had ever seen that pallid raven-haired boy whose picture the agent kept flashing around. No one remembered the night Gumbo had had a guest singer, especially not the ones who had been in the crowd at that show, galvanized by a wild voice now tragic, now raucous, now joyous.

Kinsey grabbed a Natty Boho from the cooler and stood at the bar sorting through the day's mail. Electric bill, surprisingly low. . . gas bill. . . collection agency notice. . . and two postcards. One was postmarked Flagstaff, Arizona, and read KINSEY, YOU FORGOT TO PAY THE PHONE BILL. LOVE, STEVE. Below that was scrawled Krazy Kat lived here and an amorphous swirl that might have been a G.

The other card was creased, smudged, ragged at the edges. But Kinsey thought it still bore a faint breath of sun and salt. The picture side was a closeup photograph of some ackee, the peculiar Jamaican fruit that was deadly poison before it burst open, but could be scrambled like eggs afterward. Creamy yellow curds of flesh bulged from dusky pink three-lobed skins. Embedded in each fruit were three glistening black seeds as large and round as eyeballs. Kinsey had read about ackee in his cookbooks, but never actually tasted any. He imagined it would be rather like brains.

The other side of the card was bordered with tiny faces and hands: graceful, gnarled; screaming, grinning, serene; all sorts of hands and faces exquisitely drawn in ink of black ballpoint. The postmark was too smudged to read, but the message said K: I drew for 3 hours today. It hurts like hell-but who cares? And Dario is growing dreads. Play some Bird for me. Your Friend, T.

Kinsey put on his favorite Charlie Parker tape, propped open the doors, and let Bird go soaring out over Missing Mile for the rest of the afternoon.

Trevor opened his eyes late one night and found himself staring at a vivid green lizard on the wall inches from his face. The shack was so bright that its scales seemed to shimmer.

Trevor blinked, and the creature was gone in an iridescent skirl.

He turned his head and looked at Zach, asleep on the narrow mattress beside him, naked atop sweat-dampened sheets in the steamy tropical night. The moonlight turned Zach's skin pale blue, his knotty hair and the shadows of his face a deeper indigo. The nights here were as blue as the days; the sky deepened in color but never truly darkened.

They were living in the countryside near Negril, which was something of a hippie mecca on the western coast of the island, deep in the heart of ganja country. They had no electricity, no plumbing, and they didn't care. When they missed these comforts, they hitchhiked into Negril and spent a night or two in a luxurious hotel room for about twenty dollars American.

Sometimes they visited Colin's friend's farm way up in the hills and spent a couple of days getting ridiculously stoned. Zach would amaze everyone by eating fresh scotch bonnet peppers right off the bush. The Jamaicans thought he was showing off, but Trevor knew Zach loved the pretty little globes of fire. Trevor himself had already put away gallons of Blue Mountain coffee. But not as much as he used to drink. He didn't have to keep himself awake anymore.

More often they lounged on the small cove of white sand beach a few hundred yards from their shack. Zach lathered himself with the strongest sunscreen he could buy, then lay for hours in the brilliant blue water, his head cushioned in the soft sand. He stayed as pale as ever, but his cheeks took on a faint tinge of color, and some of the dark smudges around his eyes began to fade. He wanted to learn to sing reggae.

The sun had bleached Trevor's hair pale blond. He had to tuck it up under a hat when they went into town; else Jamaican women would descend on him stroking it, praising its beauty, wanting to braid it. The first time this happened, Trevor had endured the reaching, grasping fingers for about ten seconds, then flailed out from under them with an enraged snarl that sent the ladies scattering and left Zach sprawled on the ground, helpless with laughter.

His right hand ached all the time, but it was a healing ache, the feel of bones knitting back together and muscles remembering how to move. He drew every day for as long as he could stand it. Then Zach massaged the stiffness from his hand, gently tugging the knots out of his fingers, rubbing the cramps out of his palm. The muscle at the base of his thumb sometimes throbbed until Trevor wanted to drive his fist through the wall again. But he was through hitting things forever.

He sent a postcard to Steve Bissette asking him to donate payment for “Incident in Birdland” to the production of Taboo or other comics.

They talked intimately and obsessively, fucked as often as their bodies could stand it, sometimes combined the two. It was difficult to remember how short a time they had known each other. But at the same time, they were starting to realize how much they had yet to learn. They began to unlock each other like puzzles of astonishing intricacy, to open each other like marvelous gifts discovered under the Christmas tree.

Sometimes Trevor thought about the house. Sometimes he dreamed about it, but remembered only frozen images from these dreams: the shape suspended from the shower curtain rod, slowly turning; the terrible dawning recognition in Bobby's eyes as he looked up from the bed of the sleeping son he had meant to kill after all, but could not.

Had Bobby meant to die already, or had the sight of his elder son grown, in Birdland, driven him to his death? Trevor would never know. He no longer worried much about it.

Sometimes sensations came back to him as well: the impact shuddering up his arm as the hammer crashed into the wall inches from Zach's head; the thousand tiny pains of the mirror fragments sliding into his flesh. He never wanted to forget those.

He remembered what Birdland had meant to him when he was small. It had been the place where he had discovered his talent, the place where he could work magic, where no one else could touch him. Trevor believed in magic more than ever. But he had learned that living in a place where no one could touch him was sometimes dangerous, and always lonely.

Birdland was a mirror. You could shatter it and cut yourself to ribbons on it, you could obscure it with blood. Or you could be brave enough to look into it with eyes wide open and see whatever there was to see.

He realized Zach was awake, had been watching him for some time. The moonlight turned his green eyes a strange underwater color. He did not speak, but smiled sleepily at Trevor and reached for his hand. The night was silent but for the distant shush of the sea on the sand and the sound of their breathing. The air smelled of flowers and salt, of their bodies' unique chemistry.

Yes, Trevor thought, he could have ripped himself apart on the jagged edges of Birdland just to learn how Bobby had felt doing it. He probably could have dragged Zach down with him. And he could have deluded himself into believing he did this without choice, that it was his destiny.

But it was all choice. And there were so many other choices to make. There were so many other things to learn. He wouldn't mind living for a thousand years, just for the chance to see a fraction of everything in the world.

Trevor could not be grateful to Bobby for leaving him alive. But he could be glad he had not died in that house, with all those possibilities untapped, sights unseen, ideas unexplored. He could make that choice. He had made that choice. It was all up to him. The boy whose hand he held was living proof. Zach had shown him that anything was possible. Zach was the one who deserved his gratitude.

Trevor found ways to show it straight on through till morning.

End