"I feel a little like the moon who took possession of you for a moment and then returned your soul to you." Anaïs Nin, Delta of Venus
Prologue:
The worst thing about having someone you love so much die? It seems like you go through it again with the dawn of every single day.
For the longest time it was the night that bore witness to it all, with a bleakness that matched my own, that dominion of shadowed corners and moonlit specters. It was in the dark that I had no tether to hold back my pain, had no one and nothing to constrain the fears I'd never admit to in the light of day. But eventually the dark is expunged by another dawn, another sunrise. Another day where the fucking world turns and the traffic bustles down the pavement just like it did yesterday and the park is filled with the laughter of someone else's child. When there's no goddamned chance in the world that I could forget that this is yet another day that I have to go on. That I have to get out of bed and shower and dress and work and fucking smile like I haven't lost him. Like that one soul in the universe that was ever really connected with mine isn't here. There are no more sweet smiles or gripping hugs. No more chances to spy as he sleeps or wake him up or hear him laugh at some ridiculously unfunny joke. No chance to watch him become the man I know he would have been.
Because I wasn't there to stop it. Because I couldn't run fast enough.
And now I can't stop running.
Chapter 1:
Sonny shrugged on the heavy parka and knit cap, grabbed his gloves and wound a scarf around his neck. Only last did he push his feet into the hated boots. He loathed footwear with a passion, loathed those times of the year when the decision to wear it was taken pretty much out of his hands by Mother Nature. He'd been that way all his life and his mother had wailed on more than one occasion that she feared the loss of his toes to frostbite before he reached puberty. He did eventually get smart enough to realize that his toes were a good thing to keep around and conceded to wearing something on his feet when it was cold and snowing. That didn't mean he had to like it, though.
The temperature had dipped again during the night, leaving a thin crust of ice atop the layers of snow the clouds had dumped on the area over the last few days. This much snow was a bit unusual for this part of Kentucky in late November, but it was beautiful, and the bite in the air always managed to surprise him when he first stepped outside on days like this. His grandma had told him a story about it once when he was a boy. "That little nip on your nose is a promise, angel. One day your true love will turn that little nip into a kiss you'll feel down to the bottom of your very soul... and then you'll know all the secrets the heart holds." She was a romantic that way, but he'd just shivered at the time, images of all the little girls at school making him somewhat uneasy in his belly. His grandma had just laughed that knowing laugh she had and pelted him with a snowball. He smiled now at the memory and missed his grandma more than he usually did and silently thanked her again for the home she'd left him when she passed. And for helping him deal with all the secrets of a young boy. She'd been keeping Sonny's secrets long before he knew there were secrets to be kept.
The snow sounded crisp beneath the hateful, heavy boots, each step leaving a little pothole in its wake and he knew Alma would be hopping from one to the other behind him within minutes. He'd found her in the old barn at the edge of the field a few weeks after he'd laid his grandma to rest, the cat's thick, white fur indistinguishable from the snow packed into it, nearly starved to death and shivering uncontrollably from the cold. She'd mewed pathetically, blue eyes wide with surprise or anticipation, and looking for all the world like his grandma's did when she feebly squeezed his hand and refused another breath. Later, as he'd watched the little cat lapping up the last bit of milk he'd warmed, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to call her by his grandma's given name.
There should always be the heartbeat of an Alma echoing in this place.
Sonny had moved back to MacKenzie after grad school when he'd found out his grandma's health was quickly failing, the heart disease she'd dealt with for years finally reaching its critical mass.
As the only unmarried one in the family, it had seemed natural that he'd move in here to share her final months and help her with those tasks she'd no longer the energy to do for herself. Not that it was any particular hardship. They'd always had a special bond, a connection that she hadn't shared with any of her other grandchildren. She'd listened to his childhood dreams and his teenage angst, had reminded him he came from good German stock and would handle growing up just fine, thank you. She bandaged his skinned knees and his bruised knuckles. She listened to his dreams, reminded him that there was so much more truth in the world for him yet to discover, and he knew she loved him.
The large red barn was set back a few hundred yards from the main house and it had been his grandma who'd encouraged him to utilize it for a studio, allow it to foster the talent he'd honed through all those years at his fancy school. It hadn't hosted a single stalk of tobacco in the six years since grandpa had passed, only the decaying bones of an old tractor and hoist, and there was certainly more than enough room inside to accommodate even the largest piece of his metal work. Now he stood in the large open room, shaking off the seasonable chill, critically eyeing the intertwined bands of gray metal that dominated the space. Sonny hadn't quite decided what he wanted it to be yet. Unlike most artists he'd studied with, argued with for years, he let his sculptures design themselves as he worked, let the truth inside the materials unveil itself to him rather than demand it mold itself to some vision he'd predetermined. Truth, he believed, was uncovered, not made. And art should be nothing if not truth.
The muffled sound of movement drew Sonny from his study of the piece and his hand gripped the welder's mask he'd been about to wear. It wasn't much in the way of a weapon should he need one, but better than nothing. It wasn't unheard of for desperate stray animals to seek out shelter in this kind of weather and the barn was fairly open in spaces and there was a lot of wooded area surrounding the place. A dog, an injured fox could easily have gained access if it wanted. Sonny quickly hoped that's all it was and not something a bit fiercer. He held the heavy mask like a club as he made his way toward the darkened corner, toward the repetitive sounds behind stacked pallets and bands of wood and raw metal.
Instead of a wounded animal seeking shelter from the cold what he found instead was a man, huddled and shivering in the corner, wrapping himself pathetically in a short leather jacket. Sonny lowered the mask and let out a quiet curse. "Well," he thought to himself, "this is a bit unexpected."
He couldn't remember ever being so fucking cold or feeling like such a goddamned fool in his life, and growing up Kinney in Pittsburgh he'd experienced a lot of both. He pulled the quilt more tightly around his shoulders and let the heat from the cup of coffee he cradled seep into his skin. He stared into the flames dancing against the brick of the fireplace trying desperately to piece together exactly how he'd ended up here. Last he remembered, he was leaving PriTition after a very unsuccessful pitch, pissed off that he'd lost the potential account and, as usual of late, angry at the world. After that it was pretty much a blur but from the throbbing of the brass band in his head, he assumed copious amounts of alcohol were somehow involved. Not that that was a particularly shocking realization.
"Another cup of coffee?"
Brian looked at the man sitting on the hearth and shook his head slightly. More movement than that would have set of fireworks behind his eyes, he was certain. "No, thanks. I'm fine." But he wasn't fine and hadn't been for quite some time. One year, ten months and - unless he was out of it longer than he thought - twenty-two days. A renewed chill hit his body and he pulled the quilt in a little more closely, though he knew this particular chill had nothing to do with his apparent snow escapade.
"Look, if you like, there's lots of hot water for a long shower," the man said. "Might take more of that chill away."
Brian shook his head. "Maybe in a few minutes."
"Take all the time you need." Sonny stood and placed his hand lightly on Brian's shoulder. "Name's Sonny Engel, by the way. Let me know if you need anything." He wasn't offended that the man didn't offer up his own name as well. Sonny wasn't the type to push. He'd learned a long time ago that everyone faces their thoughts in their own time, their own way. Not that he wasn't curious as to how this obviously well-to-do man had ended up stranded in his barn on such a cold night. He'd obviously walked from the old road since there was no car anywhere in sight, but that was more than a half-mile away. An easy hike if one was dressed for the walk, but the expensive leather coat and jeans, not to mention the designer shoes this guy was wearing wouldn't make that a comfortable trek at near zero temps, to say the least. Sonny decided the best he could do right now was put on another pot of coffee and maybe scramble the guy some eggs.
Brian winced at his discourteous behavior as he watched Sonny walk toward the kitchen. He'd never been one to stand on polite ceremony, and god knew that he wasn't in the best frame of mind at moment, but he certainly could have at least extended his name and a sincere thanks to the man who kept him from freezing to death. He folded the quilt he'd been wrapped in, laid it on the edge of the sofa and rubbed his hands down the sides of his trousers. He'd never been very good at rectifying a botched first impression, preferred to leave it for others to straighten out, but as he glanced toward the man in question he knew he had to do just that.
"Brian. Brian Kinney," he called out to Sonny, who gave him a warm smile in acknowledgment. "Thanks for your hospitality. I, um, I was a bit...frozen."
Sonny placed a plate of scrambled eggs, toast and sliced red tomatoes on the table beside the hearth, just within Brian's reach. "Thought you might need some fuel," he said. "And there's no need for thanks. All I did was find you a fire to thaw out in front of."
They were both quiet for some time, Brian finishing off a surprisingly good plate of eggs and Sonny puttering in the kitchen, Alma purring on the counter beside him. "I think I'll take you up on that long, hot shower now." Brian looked down at the brownish stain on his silk shirt. "Apparently there was alcohol involved in my little nighttime excursion, a lot of which seems to have avoided to my liver."
Sonny laughed, deep and throaty. "Yeah, not a particularly good combination this time of year, these roads, ice, snow and alcohol. Let me show you to the shower."
The long shower served to clear Brian's head a bit and he tried not to feel as foolish as he knew he should about getting drunk and tipping the rental car into a ditch. He'd driven in worse shape in Pittsburgh without even a blip. Of course, Pittsburgh didn't have an abundance of unlit, corkscrewed, one-lane, dirt roads to navigate, nor indigenous fauna jumping out of the woods. There wasn't even a mystery as to why he was that far off the beaten path. He'd left that prick of a CEO at PriTition and headed toward the motel where he got the brilliant idea to find a secluded spot in the woods in which to privately drown his multiple sorrows. He certainly had no drinking establishments in which to lick his wounds, or find someone to lick him. But Brian had done his homework, knew he was heading into a part of the state that didn't allow liquor sales, so he'd stocked up on bourbon before he drove away from Lexington. Armed with an abundance of alcohol as company, he'd changed his clothes and headed out.
When he ran the car off the road, he'd at least been sober enough to know he probably shouldn't call the police until he sobered up even more, but there was bourbon in the trunk, and, well... The next thing he knew he was ruining his Gucci's and taking an impromptu moonlit stroll through the country.
After his shower, he headed to the small attached bedroom expecting to put back on his ruined clothing from the day before. Instead he found a neatly folded stack of sweats on the foot of the bed. He'd assumed they were Sonny's - he shivered when he realized they were probably from the local Wal-Mart - and knew they'd be a bit small for him, but at least they weren't covered in alcohol. When he put them on, he was more than a bit surprised to find they fit him fairly well. What surprised him even more was the emblem on the front of the shirt and down the leg of the pants - a bulldog leaning on a large Y. Yale. He hadn't really expected to find a touch of the Ivy League in MacKenzie, Kentucky, of all places.
Before heading back downstairs, Brian looked around the small bedroom. The decor was a bit more masculine than other parts of the house he'd seen, painted in a medium gray with a dark wood chest and bed. On the wall was a grouping of what appeared to be original artwork, a triptych styled nightscape of a set of buildings, the panels differing in size, one running over into the next. There was a haunting quality about them, as if some much more important truth was contained within the work. He knew he'd have to take a closer look. At that moment, however, a wave of total exhaustion hit Brian, his head spinning with the impact of it, and he leaned back on the bed, thinking to close his eyes for only a moment.
Sonny sat at the kitchen table, a mess of ledgers and bills strewn around him. He hated the business side of his business, but he didn't want to abandon Brian to work in the studio, and paperwork was one of those necessary evils he'd learned to live with as an adult. "Damn adulthood," he muttered to himself with only a touch of bitterness. One of the major reasons he'd returned to MacKenzie after grad school, aside from his grandmother's declining health, was that he'd felt increasing pressure from his peers and mentors to follow their goal for him, to seek out the kind of social and professional success that he'd always run from. He'd been accepted into the best programs in the country on the basis of his unique vision, his eschewal of the norms of art, faith and beauty, programs that promised to not harness the individuality he'd had to fight so hard to maintain even throughout undergrad. Within a matter of months, however, he discovered that the feeling of unconditional belonging had been a mere chimera. Socially and professionally, it seemed he would always remain on the outside, his high academic achievements and distinctive beliefs aside. The powers that be just didn't ‘get' him.
Sonny took one more stab at reconciling his ledger before deciding he'd had enough torture for a while. It would wait another day. Or another week. Right now he had other things on his mind - all of them concerning Brian Kinney.
It'd been quite some time since he'd had real company, if one could actually call Brian company, and it felt a bit odd to share his space with someone again regardless of the circumstances. When Brian hadn't come back downstairs after a reasonable time, Sonny had checked up on him. He found him curled up on the bed, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around a pillow, sound asleep. He blushed a bit guiltily when he thought about how long he stood there, hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, just watching Brian. But there was something about the man.
Brian Kinney was beautiful, there was no question about that. That had been obvious even when he was disheveled, hung over and half frozen. But watching him sleep, his features relaxed from the wariness he'd worn earlier, without the bleakness of the pain he so clearly carried, he was breathtaking. It stirred something in Sonny that he hadn't acknowledged in years. Whatever Brian's story, whatever brought him to be huddled in the refuge of a stranger's barn in the middle of nowhere, Sonny gathered it to be a serious thing. Something more than the effects of too much alcohol and bad weather. There was something tearing at the man's soul, and if sleep helped keep the demons at bay for a while, he would let him sleep.
"Hey, thanks for the loan of the clothes." Brian startled Sonny a bit when he finally roused and came back downstairs. "And the loan of the bed. Apparently nearly freezing to death is tiring," he joked.
"Not a problem, and I figured the sweats would fit okay. They're a little old, sorry, but I'm glad someone finally got to wear them." Sonny grinned wryly as he backed away from the table and rubbed his eyes. "If you need some socks, I can get a pair."
"No. No, that's okay. I prefer bare feet."
"Something in common, then." Sonny pointed to his own naked feet. "My mother was sure she'd lose her son to frostbite before he ever grew up." He noticed that shadow cross Brian's face and decided to change the subject. "Listen, from the look of the sky, Khione is going to drop another few inches of snow on us tonight. These roads tend to be impassable when that happens and it may be a day or two before we can get you back to civilization. Is there someone you need to call? Your wife or family?"
Brian hesitated slightly. "No wife and... what's left of my family won't give a shit, but I should call my office before the search planes start circling the property."
"Phone's over there if you don't have a cell and you don't even have to dial 9 first."
"First class all the way, huh?"
"Nothing but," Sonny replied with a nod and a grin. "While you do that, I'm going to start some supper. Fucking paperwork always makes me ravenous."
When Brian had tried to reach his assistant, Caroline, to fill her in on his misadventures in the mountains, he realized the phone was out. There wasn't even a connection and since he had no idea what he'd done with his own cell phone, he really hoped Sonny had one. He joined Sonny in the kitchen and gave him the news about the phone.
"I wish I had a cell phone you could use," Sonny offered sincerely. "But something about this place just... I gave up the technology for the peace and quiet. Don't even have internet anymore." Brian tented his eyebrows at that claim, and Sonny chuckled. "Don't worry," he said. "I may be almost completely off the grid but we can hope the phone will be back on in a bit."
Brian wasn't as upset about being unplugged as he thought he, perhaps, should be. The phone and the internet were so much a part of his business - hell, so much a part of his life - that being cut off from the outside by the weather should be somewhat of a crisis. But it didn't seem to matter all that much right this minute. Maybe he needed a few days ‘off the grid'. Maybe he could finally get his head together. He decided that rather than worry about what he couldn't help, he'd simply deal. If he could only find some way to do that so easily in the rest of his life.
Brian looked around the small kitchen area. When Sonny said he was fixing ‘supper', Brian had somehow heard ‘fried foods with lots of gravy'. Instead he found, to his great relief, that his host was serving up a chef salad, pita and hummus, and iced tea.
"Need some help?" he asked. "Not much of a cook, but I've been known to make a salad or two in my time."
"Oh, my grandmother made sure that I knew how to fend for myself in the kitchen, but while I was in school I discovered that salads were a lot quicker and a lot neater than actually cooking. When time is as limited as it is in grad school, quick and neat is the only way to go."
Brian snorted. "I didn't even bother with that much. I lived on discards from my job at a pizza shop."
Sonny fiddled a bit with the pepper rings on the salad and wrinkled his nose. "Never got into pizza. Old wartime cheese allergy."
Brian chuckled a bit and thought Sonny was a nice kid, although kid was probably pretty far from the truth if he'd already been through a graduate program. At Yale? Jesus. Nice and smart. Brian wondered what the hell the man was doing here. When he'd first seen him, Brian's state of mind wasn't much for observing. Sonny was just a friendly, helpful man who'd saved the life of a shithead drunk. He was refreshed now, what with the shower and the nap, and he took an inventory of this knight in shining denim.
Sonny appeared to be no more than 25-26, quiet and clearly independent. He definitely worked out, too, judging by the biceps that strained the sleeves of a white t-shirt. Or more likely did a lot of manual labor living out here in the backwoods. He had a great smile, crystal blue eyes and the most god awful mop of dark blond hair Brian had ever encountered. Though it was pulled up high on the back of his head into a kind of bun, Brian could tell it could definitely use a good trim from Paolo's shears. Although his gaydar pinged slightly, Brian assumed the good Mr. Engel was straight based solely on his own belief that no self-respecting gay man would actually choose to live this far out on the buckle of the Bible Belt. If he was straight, however, it would be the worst miscarriage of universal justice. Sonny's ass was the thing wet dreams were made of.
That last thought bothered Brian a bit as he realized he'd better watch himself here. This wasn't exactly the most gay-friendly place in the country and he didn't really know Sonny from Adam. Hopefully, he wouldn't be here long enough to worry about that particular issue, and it was no one's business but his own, right? But damn, being locked up here for a few days with Sonny might be a bit of a strain on his right hand. The kid was a looker, no doubt about that. And he had a kind of light inside him, a sense of peace, perhaps, that for some reason enthralled Brian more than a little.
"So, are these sweats from your own personal collection? You a Yale man?" Perhaps getting the discussion back to mundane matters would take Brian's thoughts away from Sonny's... attributes.
"Yeah, that's where I went, but, no, those aren't really mine. I got them for someone else." Brian couldn't help but notice the slight hesitation on the last part of that statement. "Never got to give them to him, though."
Brian let the subject drop and they finished their meal to the sounds of Alma's quiet purr from the chair beside Sonny.
Brian stood at the large paned window and watched the snow fall through the light of a late autumn moon. It was something normal, something he'd done countless times in the loft in Pittsburgh, and he needed something normal after the events of the last twenty-four hours. If he thought hard enough he could almost see the light from the television reflecting in the tall window as he looked out over Fuller Street, could almost hear the sounds of some kid's show belting and Gus's glee as he laughed over one animated antic or another. Almost. He closed his eyes against the thoughts and wished to almighty god that he had just one more cigarette. He'd smoked the last one several hours ago on the porch and had put it out way too soon when the wind had picked up again.
It had been a pretty pleasant evening, all things considered, albeit it a very quiet one. When Sonny said during supper that he lived off the grid, Brian thought it had been an exaggeration for effect. But Brian had found out that there was not only no cell phone or computer, there was also no cable. When the generator started making a strangled sound, he realized exactly what his host had been referring to. The only concession to modernity that Sonny seemed to make was a land-line telephone. But, of course, that was now nonoperational. So they'd played Texas hold ‘em and talked.
Sonny was an artist, which Brian had already guessed from the large metal sculpture he'd seen briefly in the old barn. He'd received a master's in fine arts from Yale, the most prestigious art graduate program in the nation, more than five years ago, which made him about 30 years old, if Brian's guess was right. What had somewhat surprised him was that Sonny had also received a second master's degree in religion. Must be, Brian thought, where that inner peace he seemed to have came from. He'd told Brian about losing his grandmother, about holding her hand as she died, of the look of anticipation she had in her eyes in those last moments. Brian hadn't even been able to offer condolences after that. He couldn't. His own heart was still bleeding too profusely after almost two years. He'd made his excuses, folded the hand, and now here he stood watching the snow fall through a relative stranger's window. Feeling as isolated and devastated as he had that day. Feeling so very, very fucked up.
Sonny watched Brian as he contemplated whatever raw pain it was he carried so heavily. He'd lost someone very important to him, that much he could figure out. Brian's reaction to Sonny's own loss made it fairly obvious. But, as curious as he was about the man brooding at the window, Sonny was not one to push for more than another was willing to offer. He'd not been eager to offer his own pain up to others, either. There were some pains in life that were so sacrosanct, so blessedly personal that it seemed a blasphemy to share them.
"Hey, I'm gonna turn in if you don't need anything else. Feel free to stay up as long as you need. The guest room is yours when you're ready for it."
"Thanks, Sonny. For everything. I'm not the greatest conversationalist, as you can probably tell." Brian chuckled slightly, although he felt far from humorous at the moment.
"Don't mention it. Mi casa es su casa, as they say. 'Night, Brian."
Hours later, Brian drifted in his dreams between walks in the park and snowy Kentucky fields, between boisterous laughter over a game of Go Fish and quiet conversation over poker, between an old woman anticipating her death after a well-lived life and a beautiful boy who lost his much too soon.
"Shh. It's okay, Brian," a soft voice whispered. "You're not alone. You're never alone." Sonny sat on the side of the small bed, his hand lightly stroking Brian's face as the man fought his demons. He'd heard him cry out unintelligibly, frightened and desperate, in his sleep. As he saw the nightmares ease, as Brian's breath evened out and he slipped back into a restful sleep, Sonny somehow knew Brian ending up here was no accident. He'd never been a big believer in coincidence, thinking most things had a higher purpose. He'd just have to wait for that purpose to reveal itself.