March Writing Challenge: 50 Stories. 1 Month.

[Sean *]

This is my favorite challenge of all the livelong year, because penguins live in colonies, and this is a collaborative project.

For newer players unfamiliar with how this works, here is our site history: Four years ago, Tony and Mads challenged each other to write 300 prompts, which they completed in under three months.

Five years ago, Hammel was given the challenge of doing 100 prompts in one month, and we completed it with flying colors. Four years ago, we were challenged to do 150 prompts, and we completed that within two months. Three years ago, we did 100 in one month again and did it like champions. Two years ago, yet again, we managed to do another 100 in only one month’s time. And last year, we plowed through another 100 in the month of March.

This year, due to lower membership, we are going to start with 50 prompts for March. And if we finish early this year, I will add more.

The rules:

• Characters must be Hammel-related, but the ficlets are not site canon unless explicitly stated.
  
• Alternate universe interpretations of characters are allowed.
  
• Entries must be at least 300 words.
  
• You can enter as many ficlets as you wish
  
• Ficlets must be titled with the prompt and prompt number.
  
• Staff will update the prompt list as often as possible, striking through filled prompts.
  
• Do not write a prompt that has already been filled. Do not write a prompt claimed by someone else with an active claim.
  
• You may claim a prompt by posting in this thread with that prompt. You then have 24 hours to complete it and edit the post. After 24 hours, the post will be deleted.
  
• Please do not claim more than one prompt at a time. This promotes and preserves fairness to everyone.

Dance Sand Salt Clip Bread Fish Race Poor Rich Vault Crime Photograph Challenge Camouflage Danger Luck Rescue Risk Sleep Trance Ancient Nature Religion Boat Border Pattern Piano Bubbles Recipe Teamwork Trial Error Clutter Manners Mind Body Mystical Gadget Point of View Swing Chariot Hiding Place Opposite Baker's Dozen Suitcase Cliché Serendipity Let It Go Remote Control Complaint

[Carleigh Davidson]

#46 - Cliché

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Carleigh moved her face forward, inches from the reflective surface. Blue eyes focused on the image reflecting back. She looked away for a moment to look for her lipstick, picking up the bubblegum pink tube and applying the colour with precision and care. Without a second thought. Double checking the rest of her features, the blonde packed away her make-up products and went back to her room. It had been awhile since she'd gone out and had fun, and since she had the night off from Bessie's she figured the best course of action was to go out and try to have a good time.

She went back to her room, the designated room that Lucy and Penny had graciously allowed her to stay in until she could get back on her feet. Mutual differences between her and her old room mate had been enough for Carleigh to leave, or as her former room mate insisted, kicked out. But that was the past and she just needed to pick up some extra hours at the diner and soon she'd be able to find a place to stay on her own.

Until then, her space was here in the bedroom. Her gaze landed on the messy floor, covered with both clean and dirty clothes and littered with old fashion magazines. The colour pink was everywhere, from the bedsheets to the clothes and everything inbetween. Had it been her own place, the walls likely would be the same colour that she currently wore on her lips. Walking over to the closet, Carleigh picked out the dress that she was planning to wear on her night out, residing on the hanger next to her old cheerleading uniform from her days as a student at Hammel that she had forgotten to return after graduation. Fingertips brushed the material of uniform, momentarily distracted. 

A look of concern crossed her features. Was she some sort of a cliché? How had she fallen into such a stereotype? Maybe not so much now but especially in high school. Were her interests genuine? Was she genuine as a person? 

Without thinking twice, Carleigh ran out of her room to go ask Lucy. Because in times of need, who else was she supposed to go to? She stopped in the living room before remembering that nobody was home. Feeling defeated, the blonde sat down on the couch with a small sigh. No longer did she feel the need to go out. What was the point? She was already enough of a walking, talking cliché. 

But that was who she was; or at least, that's what Carleigh believed up until this point. And if that was the case, then really who was she, or anyone else, to put a label on that?

Satisfied for now, she reached for the remote and turned on the television, eager to distract herself with mindless dialogue for the rest of the night. 

[Adam Deulane]

48. Let It Go

A younger Ellie would have never believed that she would be working at Disney--Disney--as her first job out of college. She used the three weeks before her job started to learn how to sew and then sew a Belle costume--because she worked at Disney.

A younger Ellie would have assumed this dream job was doing animation or story boarding. She would not have conceived that her newfound computer skills were what would land her a position working for The Mouse.

But Disney was Disney.

Computer Science had taken her completely by surprise, and Ellie still felt a little bit guilty to not be enduring the elements with the Fine Arts students, where her soul seemed to belong. But she loved to program, and a computer job could get her in the door at amazing companies. So, degree in hand and trailing a few million words of stories about magical teenagers, Ellie wobbled down the line between her right and left brain and into her career. It was a see-saw game. She sketched Rhea while she waited for servers to reboot. She wrote Adam dissecting a network encryption algorithm. She got emails at work about free Disney movie tickets and software errors.

A new morning, 9:20AM. Tea, email, servers. Check the employee notification page. Oh good. You can now get a Frozen-themed automobile loan, and an astronaut was recorded singing "Let It Go" in the International Space Station. This was technically a good thing, since everyone who bought Frozen memorabilia was helping to fund her paycheck.

Nevertheless, Ellie's irritation twitched. Frozen had been okay, she sniffed. It had promising thematic elements. But the story arcs were a mess, and Anna was underdeveloped. It frustrated her how hit-and-miss a multi-million dollar production could be. I'll just have to write a better one. She smiled a bit to herself, then logged in to check the servers.

[Salem Hirch]

1. Dance

How long had it been since Salem had been back on his family farm? If you asked him, it felt like decades. Though it had only been a few years. College had taken up most of his time, but Spring Break gave him the opportunity to spend some time with his folks. The first few days were spent baking with his mother and helping his father with some of the animals and other random chores. Today however, he decided to wander into town and see if he could run into any of his old friends. 

What Salem had forgotten however, was this time of year was a town festival. That particular evening was the night of the street dance and the young man found himself surrounded by everyone in town all at once. It wasn't exactly the peaceful and quiet reunion Salem had wanted, but he soon started to enjoy himself. One friend after another started to bump into him, some of which were his brother's friends. Those were a little difficult to deal with, but he managed.

A little later in the night, Salem ran into Dusty; the younger sister of his middle school crush. They talked for a little while about how life had been going for them. Then, she managed to do something that very few people had ever been able to do; she convinced Salem to dance. How this crazy girl always got Salem to open up was beyond his knowledge. If he had really been paying attention, he would have swiftly realized she had an ulterior motive for this.

The song they were dancing to was fast and fun, which of course meant Salem was dancing like the total spaz that he was. Right before the song ended, Salem felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Upon turning, the smile faded from his face and his cheeks turned a light shade of red. There before him was his middle school crush and Dusty's older brother; Alec.

The older guy glanced over Salem to Dusty as he spoke. "Mind if I steal your dance partner?" 
She smiled and winked. "Nope, got him all warmed up for ya." With that, she slinked into the crowd and giggled at the soft glare Salem was giving her. Which didn't have time to really take effect, because he was being gently turned back toward Alec. 

"So, dance?" Alec seemed nervous as he extended a hand. "Uh huh, sure.." Salem wasn't even sure he had actually made words. As Alec took his hand, Salem was hoping for another fast song, but of course, the DJ started playing something slow. It seemed like instinct took over and Alec drew Salem even closer. The blonde was almost twenty now, why was all of this making him feel like a kid? 

The longer they danced, the more it felt like everyone else disappeared and Salem began to relax. It took him ages to realize that the music had faded and the two were further away from the crowd. Salem stopped and looked up at the man his crush had become and his stomach turned into knots. Part of him wanted to explain things and part of him wanted to push away and run home.

Before he had a chance, Alec cleared his throat and started to speak. "Salem, I know you're only in town for Spring Break, but I was hoping we could go catch a movie or something before you left." Salem's mouth betrayed his inner thoughts as it turned into a shy little smirk. "Sure, that sounds great..." His words were cut off by Alec's lips pressed against his own. The young man froze for a moment and had every intention of returning the kiss, but Alec pulled away. 

"Sorry, had to do that before I lost my nerve." He chuckled with a little blush on his own cheeks. Salem blinked a few times, but gave him a smile that let him know it was okay. "Maybe I can come visit that college of yours sometime." Alec smirked as he stepped away. "Yeah, that would be great." Salem finally managed to say something.

"Why don't we head back to the crowd, I'm sure Dusty is looking for us." Alec took Salem's hand and started leading him back, but Salem stopped. 

"Ya know what?" Salem chuckled a little. "Let her." Alec looked back at him a little confused. "I think I'd like to just dance...with you...alone." The blonde blushed as he smiled up at Alec. He nodded and pulled Salem close again.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#20 – Trance

“Let’s count backwards together: 100...99...98...97...96..."

Sean looked over at his partner, slumped over on the sofa, eyes closed. Despite the fact that he appeared asleep, the telepath knew that Josh was acutely attentive.

“Do you remember those pictures we looked at of a lung with emphysema and a mouth and throat with cancer and the heart caked with tar?”

“...yes...” The attorney’s voice held that dream-like quality that Sean associated primarily with therapy, and occasionally with trying to have a conversation with his partner when the other man was about to fall asleep.

“I need you to picture them in your mind’s eye. Can you do that?”

“...yes...”

“Good.”

Never say “I want.” It was the first rule of therapy as the mental health professional, rather than the patient. This wasn’t about what he wanted; it was about helping Josh do what was best for him, helping him with a problem that he wanted help with. Needs were one thing; they underscored how imperative cooperation between patient and therapist was, and by coupling each step with a request that Josh assist him, then they needn’t worry about an even greater power imbalance. But wants? He wouldn’t, couldn’t, risk making the other man view this as a contest of wills, or, worse, priming him to be subordinate to the telepath’s whims.

Even though Josh was his partner, he had to draw the firm boundaries of patient and therapist while they did this. Anything else would be unethical, as it would be to take advantage of their more intimate relationship and his partner’s trusting nature.

More than that; it would mean taking advantage of the other man’s insecurity about their relationship, and the psychiatrist would never exploit that, not even for Josh’s health.

He saw a flash of disgust on the other man’s face. Good. Aversion played such an integral role in every facet of human behavior.

“Whenever you think about smoking, bring those imagines to the front of your mind, so you remember what every cigarette, what every puff, is doing to your body.”

That would certainly put them on more even footing, since Sean certainly thought of that whenever his partner took a smoke break.

Of course, he tolerated Josh’s smoking, in the same way he tolerated toddler tantrums at restaurants or the neighborhood dogs when they broke from their leashes to come over and sniff him. He had suggested on more than one occasion over the past three decades at the younger man quit for his own health if for no other reason, but such suggestions were met with stubborn denials. Either that Josh didn’t smoke that much, or that he was a grown man and could do whatever he pleased.

Although Sean disagreed with the first part, he couldn’t deny the second, even if he knew that the attorney was smoking himself into an early grave.

Even with rekindling their relationship, he hadn’t issued an ultimatum about the smoking, since Josh didn’t smoke in the house, even if everything he wore and touched reeked of tobacco and tar.

If he didn’t have the hypertension diagnosis, the telepath wouldn’t have suggested acute therapy. But the diagnosis came from a third-party professional coupled with dire warnings and emphasis on the need for lifestyle changes. Despite Josh’s irrational belief that his doctor had done this purely to ruin his life, the younger man was trying to cooperate, and, as a result, Sean wanted to do everything he could to finish this once and for all.

They could do everything else in moderation, but the smoking ended here.

“Can you do that?”

Josh nodded in agreement.

“Think about the cigarettes in your coat pocket.” Josh had no real hiding places for his cigarettes, because he lived with a telepath. “What do you see?”

The attorney blanched, and, again, disgust crept across his features despite his otherwise relaxed expression and posture. “That black lung.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“It’s disgusting.”

“It is,” Sean agreed. He didn’t nod, since his partner’s eyes were closed, and thus he needn’t engage in any active listening cues. Both of them were paying attention here. “But you don’t have to have that inside of you.”

“I don’t?” He could hear the relief in the other man’s voice. How many times had he heard that same tone when doing addiction therapy over the years?

“No, because you don’t need to smoke. The cigarettes need you, because they can’t exist without someone to smoke them. But you don’t need them.”

“I…don’t?” The telepath heard that quaver, knew that his partner found this aspect a bit more overwhelming, because, deep down, they all knew that nicotine was one of the most addictive substances on the planet. More than that, Josh had only agreed to a therapy he offensively called brainwashing, because he knew that he couldn’t break the addiction on his own without possible backsliding and painful side effects.

Much like his fingers when giving the other man a backrub, Sean would find that knot of tension and uncertainty and ease it into nothingness.

“You don’t. The cigarettes are parasites, leeching off your body, your time, and your wallet.” He chose the word parasite deliberately, in order to invoke that same disgust reflex. Of course, he also considered it an apt comparison. Tobacco companies were harvesters of death, and their products deliberately feasted on people until they dropped dead from their brand loyalty and consumption.

It worked. Josh looked mildly queasy.

“You’ll feel so much better without them, because you’ll be in control of your body again. In control of your health and your time. No more huddling in the doorway when it snows. No more having to cut your breaks in half to make sure you have time for a cigarette or two. No more keeping two twenties in that hidden compartment in your wallet so you can buy a pack in a pinch.”

There were no hiding places when one lived with a telepath.

“In control...”

“Yes. And so much healthier and happier for it.”

Sean wanted to reach out and rub his partner’s shoulder in encouragement, but he kept his hands to himself. He couldn’t blur boundaries. When they finished here he would give Josh a big hug, but, until then, this was strictly professional.

“Now, you still might have urges, and that’s all right,” he emphasized this part, because he didn’t want Josh to struggle with feelings of failure if he found himself fighting temptation. They had other tools at their disposal to combat those urges without encouraging backsliding. “Because whenever you have an urge, it won’t be to smoke.”

Josh appeared enraptured by this, and he could almost feel his partner’s curiosity and eagerness here.

“Any time you have an urge, you’ll quench it with a sip of water.” He had run his preferred substitutions by the attorney before starting. Josh had chosen the water suggestion as the least ridiculous, and they both agreed that he could afford to hydrate himself better anyway. “Any time you have an urge; every time you have an urge. You’ll have a sip of water instead, and you’ll feel refreshed and in control again.”

Eventually, they could wean the other man off that suggestion, so that he wouldn’t need a substitution as a crutch, but that was a while in the future. Until then, Josh could bring a water bottle with him when he left the house, and he could keep an extra glass with him at home.

“A sip of water...” the attorney repeated, this time with more confidence in his voice.

“A sip of water and you’ll feel refreshed and in control.”

“...refreshed and in control.”

“Very good.” Sean smiled, not for Josh’s benefit, but because he felt proud of his partner and pleased with their joint progress. Now they had to tie everything together.

“Let’s review: what are cigarettes?”

The disgust returned to his partner’s face, telling him that the coupling suggestion had remained firm as well. “Parasites.”

“Good.” The praise came naturally. “And do you need them?”

“No.” Josh spoke so firmly.

“You can be much happier and healthier without them, can’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s right.” Another smile touched his lips. “What do you see when you think about smoking?”

“That black lung and the heart...”

“Good. And what are those?”

“They’re disgusting.”

“Good.” They were once again in agreement. “You don’t want those in your body do you?”

“No!” Josh nearly shouted in his enthusiasm, and Sean was glad that he had taken the afternoon off Hammel to take care of this, while Bailey was in class and thus out of the house.”

“So what will you do if you get an urge to smoke?”

“Have a sip of water.”

“And how will that make you feel?”

“Refreshed...and in control.”

“That’s great, Josh. You’re doing great.”

A smile touched Josh’s lips then, which tended to happen when he received external validation, particularly from the telepath.

“You’re going to remember all of this deep inside of you; this is instinctive knowledge now. And you’ll remember everything we talked about.” Transparency was important. This wasn’t a rebroadcast of Svengali, or every bad mystery plot ever written; Sean had no intention of making his partner forget their conversation, even if the mind had a tendency to provide a hazy barrier. He certainly wouldn’t add to that. “Do you understand?”

Josh nodded.

“Good. Now, I’m going to count to three. When I reach three, you’ll move from this alert, aware state, and you’ll fall into a natural sleep. You’ll nap for as long as you want, and, when you wake up, you’ll be refreshed and no longer worried about fighting the urges. Are you ready?”

Josh nodded again. “Yes.”

“Good. One...two...three.”

His partner slumped forward more, and his face grew slacker.

With the therapy portion of this afternoon ended, Sean grabbed an afghan from the back of the sofa and opened it, before wrapping it around the other man’s body. He slipped a pillow against the armrest and gingerly rearranged the attorney until he was laying across the width of the sofa cushions. Then he leaned forward to press a tender kiss to Josh’s forehead.

“I’m so proud of you, Slim,” he whispered in the other man’s ear, before turning off the light.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#36 – Body*

When Joshua Bernstein had first met Sean Neville, he’d found the older boy to be the most engaging, interesting person that he had ever met. Sean was intelligent, compassionate, experienced, a good listener; he gave good advice, and he had so many skills and talents, and a wonderful sense of humor. Not to mention that he was attractive. Josh had never been more attracted to anyone than he’d been to Sean. Thick brown hair, blue eyes that saw everything and twinkled with mischief, strong and tall and built like a linebacker, and a great fashion sense (for the time).

For years, while they dated and lived together, Josh was able to bask in Sean’s presence. He could look into the telepath’s well-loved face and enjoy his company.

When they broke up, Sean lost a bit of himself.

His eyes didn’t twinkle quite as brightly. His build wasn’t as tall and full. He was smaller somehow and more subdued.

Sean dated a woman for a time, and then when she broke his heart, the process began again.

It was about that time that Josh realized that Sean was a nesting doll.

Josh had never really thought about it before, but it made sense. Every person had layers, but for most people, they were metaphorical. For Sean, they were literal, and each time someone broke his heart, one of those layers peeled back to reveal the next, more vulnerable part of the telepath.

By the time they had reached middle age, Sean was only half of the man he had been. Quite literally.

By the time they had reached the age to qualify for the AARP, Josh had had almost three decades during which his guilt consumed him. He regretted breaking up with Sean. He regretted the lost years together. He regretted waking up alone in the morning and falling asleep at night. He regretted the emptiness of his apartment, and the presence of a rabbit didn't make enough of a different. He regretted all of it.

Living several states away from the telepath gave Josh the opportunity to stew in his emotions, regrets, and guilt. They spoke frequently by telephone and email, but they only saw one another for holidays, birthdays, and special vacations or weekends. Recently, Josh’s work schedule hadn’t allowed for him to visit his friend, because he was drowning in litigation, but he vowed to find the time to visit for Sean’s birthday.

When it came time for the telepath’s birthday weekend, Josh took the train up to Vermont; Sean had promised to meet him at the train station.

He barely recognized his friend. His voice was the same as it had been on the telephone, but he was so thin, small, and pale. Most distressing of all: Sean’s features were completely blank. He had no mouth, but he could talk. He had no eyes, but, presumably, he could see, since the telepath mentioned having driven to the station.

“Are you...are you okay?”

“Yes.” Sean reached out to take his friend’s bag, and his arm was so short and thin that Josh feared it might snap in half like a twig from the weight. Still, he managed to lift it before the attorney could stop him, and he didn’t tumble over from the exertion.

They walked in silence towards the telepath’s car. Only once they were both inside, and Sean had begun driving, did he explain, “I tried some dating groups. They...didn’t work out.”

That had to be in the running for the understatement of the year. Obviously, those groups must have sucked the remaining life out of the telepath, but Josh didn’t know what to say about that. He wanted to ask how someone as confident, intelligent, and accepting as his friend had been once upon a time could continue to seek out such doomed relationships. Didn’t he see what this was doing to him? Was he just that desperate?

The blankness of his friend’s face made it even more difficult for Josh to read him than usual, but he had the instinct impression that the telepath wanted him to say something.

“I’m sorry. You deserve better than that.”

Josh truly believed that. He didn’t understand how so many people could be so blind to all of Sean’s good qualities. In a fairer world, Sean wouldn’t be able to leave his house without fighting off a stampede of people who wanted to settle down and make a life with him. Instead...

Instead, Josh thought that one more bad relationship would kill his friend; the attorney didn’t think that Sean had any more layers to lose.

Seeing the telepath this way churned up all of the anxiety and regret that Josh tried to bury deep inside of himself. After all, he had started this pattern.

If he hadn’t broken up with Sean in the first place, then the other man wouldn’t have lost his first layer. He wouldn’t have started down this path of broken dreams, bad relationships, and lost layers until he had nothing left.

It was all his fault.

That he had come to regret his decision only made all of this worse. He knew he wasn’t entitled to such regret, not when Sean was the one who had suffered so much for the decision. Josh had the luxury of regretting his decision; the telepath no longer had a face.

Still, when they reached the familiar house, Sean insisted on cooking a big welcome dinner rather than ordering takeout. And since Josh couldn’t cook, he found himself trying to keep up conversation while vainly ignoring the other man’s current state. He tried not to stare; he tried to keep the pity and concern out of his voice. Sean acted as though he didn’t notice, but, just as with Josh’s behavior, the attorney assumed it was only pretend. An elaborate game because neither man wanted to discuss the elephant in the room: Josh because of nerves and regret, and Sean, perhaps, because he couldn’t face any further scrutiny.

The next morning, Josh came downstairs to find no sign of his friend: the table wasn’t set, there was no breakfast cooking, and the coffee machine was cold, untouched since yesterday morning.

That was unusual. Despite the fact that Josh had no expectations that his friend would cook for him, Sean always did. The only times he didn’t were when they had agreed to go out (but they hadn’t discussed the possibility before retreating to bed last night) or when the other man was sick.

Oh.

Frowning, he took the stairs quickly before crossing the second floor until he arrived at the telepath’s bedroom. Knocking gently, he inquired, “Sean?”

He heard coughing, and then a muffled “Come in.”

Josh pushed the door open, slipping inside. He saw the other man wrapped up in blankets that nearly masked his diminutive frame, and his head was buried in a pillow, hiding his non-face.

Frowning, the attorney approached the bed. “Are you sick?”

He heard another cough, and Sean buried himself further into the pillow. “I woke up this way.” Josh thought he heard apology in the other man’s voice.

He reached out to pat his friend gently on the back, or, at least, what he thought was Sean’s back. “You stay in bed. I’ll go out to get some breakfast and some medicine from the pharmacy.”

“You don’t-don’t have to.” The telepath’s insistence would sound more convincing if he weren’t wracked with violent coughing.

Josh patted him again. “I know. I’ll be back soon.”

Sean didn’t put up further argument.

Within fifteen minutes, Josh had dressed and grabbed his wallet. Thankfully, Sean had the taxi company number on his refrigerator, and, as Pilot Ridge wasn’t a booming metropolis, there was no significant wait. The cabbie dropped him off downtown at the pharmacy, where Josh filled a basket with a number of different cold remedies, cough syrups, pain medications, and heating pads for the general malaise. He picked up one of those musical get well cards; he couldn’t turn it down when he saw that it played Simon and Garfunkel’s “Feelin’ Groovy” (which, after decades as Sean’s friend, he knew wasn’t the actual song title, but that didn’t matter).

He took the bag with him across the street to the café to order coffee and breakfast sandwiches, but he was sidetracked by a florist. Flowers might make his friend feel better, or, at the very least, cheer him up.

Right outside the shop, he stepped on a rock, or, at least it felt like a rock. But he bent down to pick it up and saw that it was far too big for a rock. It was flat but roughly the size of his hand, and peach colored. Flipping it over, he nearly gasped.

Familiar blue eyes stared back at him, a mouth he longed to kiss beneath it, and a nose slightly askew separated them.

This was Sean’s face.

What was it doing here? How was it here?

His mind raced, coping far too well with the fact that he currently held his best friend’s face in his hand.

If he could find this here, then that meant...

That meant that, maybe, Sean’s layers weren’t gone after all, only missing. And, maybe he could bring them back to the telepath.

Could it be? Was there a way to fix this after all?

Flowers forgotten, he pulled out his cell phone to call the cab company again. He needed to get home right now to show Sean.

If it worked, then he could take some time off to look for his friend’s missing body parts and layers. He would happily use up all of his vacation days if it meant he could right this wrong and give Sean back everything he had lost.

Until he had an answer, he delicately placed the face in the pharmacy bag; he couldn’t risk losing it again.


*With apologies to Dryope.

[Adam Deulane]

#3. Salt

Adam was sitting on his girlfriend's bed.

At age 29, this shouldn't be a novelty. He and Michelle were talking about their visit to the museum that afternoon, and her bedroom afforded privacy from her nosy roommate.

Michelle was her usual reserved, unaffected self. She did not feel the charge emanating from the bedspread as if it were the hide of a barely tamed, silk-skinned beast.

They hadn't even done anything. Washing dishes at home alone after a simple kiss, the questions hunted Adam's thoughts. What did she want? What did this mean? What would happen? What if it's not right, it can't be right, this must be a mistake...

Why is this so hard? That night, Adam blinked back tears as he stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. He had been the product of two teenagers who didn't know how to use a condom correctly, and the thought of peeling off a single layer of clothing, of even opening his mouth during a kiss, filled him with terror. This terror brawled with the desire of twenty-nine years of loneliness and a virgin's shame, and at times Adam's own voice vanished in the battle. What did he want? He couldn't even hear himself above the roar.

His next date with Michelle was a breakfast date. He guessed that he could set his watch by promptness with which she arrived at appointments. They talked and ate pancakes, and as both of them were approaching the last quarter, he cleared his throat and tucked his hands into his lap.

"Michelle, I wanted to ask..." He looked at his plate. "I know we've talked about physical stuff before. I just—I hope you're not...”

He stopped. Michelle leaned forward slightly but didn't say anything. He liked that she waited for him to finish his own thoughts. He quelled the clamor starting in his hands as best he could. “...This is just really hard for me.”

Michelle reached across the table and brushed his fingertips with her own. Their hands found each other, and for a moment they held them clasped next to the salt shaker and hot sauce. Her touch brought little ripples of anxiety and gratitude. Adam squeezed her fingers gently.

“Thanks for understanding.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#13 – Challenge

Somehow, Sean had become the wealthiest member of his circle of friends, not counting parental income. If they counted parental income, then, he thought, Josh’s family had more than his. Not that it mattered much, but when he and Josh had lived together, he had been privy to information about the other young man’s finances, and he knew how many investments his father made in the family name, in addition to his actual work. Not that this had much bearing on the day to day, apart from the fact that Josh’s parents paid his rent for his new apartment.

Otherwise, Josh was a law student and only worked at firms during the summer, sometimes only as internships. Greg was finishing up his Masters of Architecture degree and his apprenticeship. Daphne was living the life of a PhD student, essentially broke and teaching classes until she finished her dissertation. Several of his other college friends were also pursuing higher education, or they had moved back home or across the country where they could find work, or, in the case of far too many of his male friends, they had died, or they had gotten sick and were facing a death sentence, or they had been fired from their jobs for fear of the gay illness.

But Sean had moved from his residency period at the hospital to the last part of his residency - working with a psychiatrist in private practice. The contrast was stark and immediately noticeable: more regular hours, a huge shift in the demographic of his patients, higher pay...

Over all, he didn’t mind the change, although he missed working with underprivileged patients. He didn’t miss the prejudices towards those patients, but he had already resolved to take as many Medicaid and indigent patients as possible to counterbalance the patients who would pay for his services. His preceptor called him an idealist.

But he wasn’t an idealist. For all his liberalism and faith in humanity, for all of the emphasis he put on good works over good thoughts, he wasn’t an idealist.

He knew that they wouldn’t achieve world peace in his lifetime, if at all. He knew that they wouldn’t achieve nuclear disarmament, or the eradication of global poverty, or of world hunger, or of political corruption. He knew that there would be prisons and illnesses (and seeing so many from his community swept up in such an illness while the White House ignored them filled him with a quiet rage that he could only share with a couple of people) and poverty and misery. He simply believed that this meant he had to do more to counteract them, rather than shrugging his shoulders and saying, “Such is the world.”

That it was the world didn’t mean that it had to be that way forever.

Explaining all of that took more energy than he typically wished to expend. He liked his supervisor over all; the man was to the left of Sean’s family, although firmly to the right of most of Sean’s politics otherwise. He agreed that defunding psychiatrist institutions and limiting the ability to plead insanity in criminal cases had, and would continue to have, disastrous effects on the nation at large, and particularly on the populations that they – as psychiatrists – were supposed to protect. However, he also approved of Reagan’s tax policies.

Nearly every doctor Sean interacted with approved of Reagan’s tax policies, because they all benefited from the tax breaks.

The telepath felt more comfortable debating his preceptor than debating his parents or grandparents on the topic, although that didn’t mean much. He never debated his parents or grandparents about tax policies, foreign policies, or domestic policies, because he didn’t want to introduce that level of instability into his family life. As it was, they knew he was a liberal and a Democrat, and he had stopped going to church services, and that was more than enough.

At work, between patients, he and his preceptor discussed the ongoing problems in Nicaragua. They discussed the areas in the DSM that they believed needed to be updated. Sometimes, his preceptor asked questions about his telepathy worked or about his memory manipulation power.

“You can change the world with that,” he told Sean over lunch one day.

The younger man didn’t see how such a sentiment was less idealistic than the thought that, through cooperation, they could combat prejudice and poverty, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he replied, “I hope so” and turned back to his sandwich.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#27-Piano

Everyone told him to get rid of the apartment in the Village.

His parents offered to give him the money to make a down payment in any other neighborhood. Not a loan, but a gift free and clear, as long as he moved out of the apartment, out of the building, and out of the Village.

Greg, who had the most experience with parental rejection of anyone in the telepath’s life, told him to accept the offer. “You can use it to get that brownstone you’ve always wanted.”

Even Robert thought he should move.

Robert had been leaning on him to move since before he came out to his parents. “The reminders aren’t good for you,” his mentor told him frequently.

“The reminders are all I have left of him.”

Which wasn’t an exaggeration, not entirely. Josh had promised that they would remain friends, and the young doctor clung to that. Yet, his ex-boyfriend hadn’t reached out to him since the Break Up, and he didn’t return the telepath’s calls.

Eventually, Josh resumed contact with him, and they fell awkwardly, but sincerely, into a pattern of friendship. Talking to the law student, meeting him for lunch, going to Shabbat suppers at his parents’ apartment...all of that made it easier to let go of the apartment.

He went apartment hunting with Daphne, occasionally posing as a couple rather than a bachelor, simply because he did intend to settle down with another person someday. He wished that other person was Josh, but he didn’t say that, despite the depression that his friends could see in him most of the time. He would never pressure the law student, instead felt such gratitude that Josh was willing to remain in his life in any capacity, even if that capacity was “friend” rather than “lover.”

By the time he was ready to move, he had opened up his own psychiatric practice. He was lucky that his parents knew so little about individual neighborhoods in the City that they didn’t realize the characteristics or demographics of Chelsea. They didn’t argue with him about the location of his new home; instead, his father wrote him a check, as promised, to assist with the down payment.

Of course, he took most of the furniture from the old apartment when he moved. The bed that he had shared with Josh, in “his” designated bedroom, the one that they had used together before the law student had left him. That had earned him another concerned lecture from Robert. “You should get a fresh start in a new home,” his mentor told him. For once, the younger telepath didn’t take the older man’s advice; he didn’t want a completely fresh start.

Besides, it was a perfectly good bed.

His parents said nothing about his sleeping arrangements. Afraid of what he might tell them, they had never asked about whose room he and Josh had used when they had lived together.

He took the church pew they used as a sofa and the television set and VCR. His dresser, and nightstand, and desk. The kitchen table and chairs and the coffee table. Enough to make it so that his new house felt like home.

But, the new place was larger than the old apartment, with a different layout. It felt empty, even with his old furniture, even though he wasn’t missing a lover or a roommate since he had bought it for himself and lived alone.

Daphne offered to go furniture shopping with him. “We can get you one of those ergonomic chairs,” she said with a laugh.

He wasn’t buying an ergonomic chair; his back felt fine, and he had excellent posture. Just like he wasn’t going to replace his bed with a waterbed, and he didn’t want to buy a futon. But a second sofa, one more comfortable than the church pew would do wonders, he thought. Some furniture for the guest room. Maybe a new rug or two.

On their way to the furniture store, they passed an antique store. Although few people would guess due to his age, his build, his gender, and associated stereotypes, Sean loved to go antiquing. They pulled into the parking lot, leaving the van behind to look inside.

Every antique store was different, which Sean appreciated most about such excursions. By their very nature, each store, each trip to each store, provided new inventory, different wares to peruse. Clothing and typewriters, some baby toys, and an antique rocking chair. The rocking chair had some appeal, although he couldn’t rationalize buying one while he was single and childless. When he finally had children, then he could have a rocking chair.

Then, while Daphne sorted through some of the jewelry, he spied it in the corner of the shop. A baby grand piano. Black with gold finish. The telepath found himself drawn to it. All eighty-eight keys were in place, and he reached out to run his fingers along it, feeling for a weak spot.

He found none.

Glancing at the price tag, he saw that it had been reduced several times. The current asking price remained steep, but only for an impulse purchase. Even for a use piece, it was a bargain, given the condition at first blush.

The shopkeeper came up behind him. “It’s a gorgeous instrument.”

“It is.” Sean turned to look at the old man. “Does it work?”

It needs to be tuned, but it’s in working order.”

“Why is it so cheap?”

“Nobody will buy it. Most people don’t have the space for it in their apartments, and the people who can afford a show piece won’t buy a used instrument.” The shopkeeper spread his hands. “I could use the floor space again, if you’re interested.”

The telepath glanced down at the instrument again, ran his fingers along the keys. “It’s tempting.”

“I can throw in something for your girlfriend.”

Sean turned to look over at Daphne. Of all their college friends, she was the one with the most financial problems. She still lived in campus housing, since she was finishing up her PhD. She received grant money and subsidized housing in exchange for teaching undergraduate classes and doing lab work, but...Sean worked, Greg worked, and Josh received money from his parents.

He wanted to give her a present as a thank you for supporting him through all of his emotional stress.

“It’s a deal.” He held out his hand.

The shopkeeper took it, and Sean followed him up to the front. He didn’t have enough cash on him for the piano, but he had a credit card, and he handed it over for the shopkeeper to run. Then, while the old man worked with it, he found Daphne again and said, “Pick something out.”

“I’m just looking.”

“It’s already paid for,” he assured her.

She gave him a questioning look, but seemed satisfied by his promise, because she began to examine the items in earnest.

Eventually, she chose a black calotte Juliette cap with an attached veil. He smiled at her and brought it up to the shopkeeper, who crossed it off the inventory and gave him a handwritten receipt. “Do you need help bringing everything out to your car?”

“I have a van, but if you have a hand truck...”

It took fifteen minutes to get the piano wrapped, outside, and then secured in his van, but, between the three of them, they managed.

“Thank you again,” Sean told the shopkeeper.

“Thank you for giving her a new home.”

Daphne waited until they were back in the van and on the road, before she said, “I thought you hate playing the piano because your parents made you show off for company.”

He frowned slightly, not at the description but at the underlying truth of her words. “It wasn’t showing off as much as it was pretending that everything was normal.”

“Then why would you drop that much on a piano if you don’t like playing?”

He was silent, focused on the road ahead of him as he continued their drive to the furniture store. Only when they had nearly arrived, and Daphne thought he might have chosen to ignore her, did he reply, “Because sometimes I need to pretend that everything is normal, too.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#9 – Rich

The Neville family was rich enough that they owned a private train car.

This wasn’t surprising, since they also owned large shares in various railroad ventures across the nation.

They traveled with the expectation of a certain degree of comfort, and, thus, whenever a member of the Neville family wished to go somewhere, the train that went through the nearest station had to stop while porters attached their private car.

Sean had never rode in a public train car. He’d been inside one on a couple of occasions, either when forced to do an inspection alongside his brother-in-law, or because a passenger in one of the public cars had experienced a medical emergency. He knew what they looked like, but he had no idea what it felt like to go on a day’s journey, or a week’s journey, or two weeks’ journey in a public car. He assumed he wouldn’t like it, the same way he assumed that he wouldn’t like many aspects of life outside of his bubble.

Unlike his sister, he interacted with people outside of his bubble. Unlike the rest of the members of the Neville clan, he had seen horror beyond that which many people could imagine. The war and the hundreds and thousands and hundreds of thousands of men dying and crying, the smell of gangrene and vomit, and the blood caked under his fingernails. Even before that, he had served patients in the worst of the tenements. He saw the squalor and the suffering.

But, at the end of the night, he always went back to his massive townhouse, the one he shared with Joshua, his...geliebter, as Joshua would say. Mo shíorghrá, as his grandmother might say, if she knew.

Of course, if his grandmother knew that the other half of his heart was another man, a Jew, an immigrant from Prussia, then that would have been enough to kill her, if she hadn’t already passed on years before.

But the townhouse with their separate bedrooms that shared a bathroom (and through which Joshua joined him every night) and their fully appointed parlor and their housekeeper and kitchen staff...that was his sanctuary away from the suffering and pain.

The Neville family train car was far smaller than his townhouse, far smaller than the mansion where he had been born and grown up, but it was just as beautifully-appointed, since his mother and sister had taken the lead in decorating it. It was comfortable, certainly comfortable enough for the long journey ahead of them. Even with his and Joshua’s luggage crammed into different corners of the car. They had a bunk that they shared and guaranteed privacy; the porters only came when summoned, and thus they needn’t worry about interruptions.

The doctor stared out the window at the passing scenery, at the trees that separated the towns from one another, so different from the smog and the buildings and population density of the City.

Joshua came up behind him and rested one hand on his shoulder, jolting his attention from the window to his lover. “We should call for a meal soon,” he suggested.

It was a valid suggestion, Sean acknowledged. He realized that they had not eaten since breakfast, and, since his appetite had been so poor, his entire breakfast had consisted of a cup of tea and three spoonfuls of oatmeal. Not much of a meal, even if that was par for the course these days.

However, although he had no appetite, his lover was not haunted by the same memories and thoughts, and thus he needed to eat. Sean could, would, deny the other man nothing.

“If you wish,” he replied, looking up into the attorney’s keen blue eyes. So often, Joshua was the only one who could break him from one of his black moods, and he loved him all the more for that. “How long until Chicago?”

“Another few days, according to the conductor,” Joshua explained. He settled in the chair across from the doctor, and he pressed his right knee forward to rest against Sean’s left. “The change of scenery will do your spirit well.”

“I hope so.” His parents had insisted they travel to Chicago, one of the largest cities outside of New York, and one that grew rapidly through immigration, railroads, and new industry. His parents had been so insistent that he go and Joshua attend him that the elder Neville had hired an attorney to cover Joshua’s practice for him, so that he would have freedom to travel.

That was another perk of the family name and the family fortune. It wasn’t as though either Joshua or Sean worked to pay bills, but they had obligations. At least, Joshua had obligations, since the law was slower than medicine, and Sean had wound down his practice for a bit. He couldn’t focus enough.

Joshua reached for his hand, brought Sean’s knuckles to his lips. “I have faith, Barchen.”

One of them did.

Sean could only smile softly at his lover, adoration in his eyes. “Let’s call a porter to bring us some supper.” They could resume this position once they had their meals.

[Nora Marie "Nory" Gwinn]

#31. Trial

“Don't forget to adjust your mirrors.”

“I know! I wouldn't have been able to back out of the garage if I couldn't see out of them.”

“Just checking. Learning to drive is a lot of trial and error.”

Driving practice with her big brother. Nory had been home for a month, and still she could hardly believe it. No contact for four years and here he was, back in his old room. Home in Portland for summer break, and she'd wander into the kitchen and see him and her dad reading different sections of the morning paper. Four years, and their family finally felt something close to whole again.

Today, he had volunteered to come with her on practice for her driver's license. Such a simple, day-to-day activity still made her heart flutter. She eased down the driveway. “I already know how to drive,” she said proudly. “Dad started teaching me a year ago.”

“Well, you need the supervised hours if you want your license,” Adam replied. He had his arm braced against the passenger's seat door, which Nory chose to interpret as a gesture of excitement. She backed up neatly around the corner, cranked the wheel to the right, and proceeded smoothly down the street.

Their neighborhood had its share of tattered plastic play toys and peeling paint, but it all glowed in the June sunlight. Nory chanted in an unbroken stream as she drove. “That's where Mrs. Fredrickson used to live; she moved into a retirement home last year. Remember how mom used to make you shovel her walk? And Cindy's house, we sill hang out in the summers sometimes.”

“Uh huh. There's a stop sign coming up, watch out.”

“I know there is. So, sometimes Thomas and I...”

They drove on. First through residential streets, then buzzing down arterials. Then, as Nory passed through a green light, a car in the oncoming left turn lane swerved in front of them.

Nory slammed on the breaks and veered right. The cars missed each other by inches. Nory accelerated out of the intersection, and she did not become aware that Adam was shouting until she pulled to the side of the road.

“Why didn't you stop sooner?" He was roaring. "Didn't you see that car?”

“It wasn't supposed to turn!” Nory yelled back in reply. Her heart was hammering, she felt light headed and ready to cry. “I had the right of way thing, they were supposed to stop!”

“Well they didn't, did they?” Adam shouted. "You could have gotten us both killed!" Then he paused, took a few deep breaths, and continued in a voice of forced calm. “Look, I'm sorry. I'll show you how to do it tomorrow--”

Something inside Nory that she hadn't seen, or had ignored, snapped. “I KNOW HOW TO DRIVE!” she screamed. “Not that you'd know that, since you haven't talked to us for the last FOUR YEARS!”

Adam recoiled, and she saw it in his eyes—relief. Her anger exploded. “You—you fucking—do you have any idea what it was like for us?” She twisted as far into his face as the seatbelt would allow. “It was hell! I was alone, thinking somehow it was my fault that mom died and you left, even though it was fucking impossible and you KNEW that!” Her lips flung spit. “And you just left! And they drugged me up and stuck me on a plane and Dad was left alone in that house, a month after mom died!”

She had started crying now, and that made her even angrier. She didn't want comfort, she wanted to rip Adam to pieces. “How could you leave us like that?” She clawed past her sobs. “You didn't even care, you just left, and four years--!” Her fury was almost inarticulate now. “Four years! And I had to come find you, break out of--!”

Adam made a small choking sound. Tears were rolling down his face. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered. “Nory, I'm so, so sorry.” His breath hitched. “And...and I understand if you'll n-never...” The last words came out a squeak. 

The chaos inside the car didn't stop until a driver pulled up next to their idling car and asked if they needed a jump. “We're fine!” Nory croaked, baring her teeth and waving through puffy, wet eyes. “Thanks for stopping, but we're fine!”

Neither of them spoke until they reached home. Nory turned off the car. After a few moments, she said, “You're going to counseling every week, right?”

Adam nodded.

Nory didn't know what to do. She wanted to say that it was all okay, that she forgave him. But every time she tried to get the words out, they were choked by a rush of anger.

Adam wiped his eyes off on his sleeve. “If you want to go driving again tomorrow, I'd be glad to come with you.”

“Really?” Nory looked over at him. Her dad had been doing most of her drives with her so far, and Adam spent his time shut up in his room, like he always had.

“Yeah.” Adam nodded. “And the day after. Every day this summer, if you want. You need, what, a hundred supervised hours?” He took a deep breath. "Wherever you want to go. As long as you want."

“Something like that.” Nory gazed at her brother for a moment, then smiled weakly. “Okay.”

[Adam Deulane]

#32. Error

“Don't forget to adjust your mirrors.”

“I know! I wouldn't have been able to back out of the garage if I couldn't see out of them.”

“Just checking. Learning to drive is a lot of trial and error.”

How much Nory now looked like their mother Mary sometimes made Adam's stomach cold. Unlike many children, his first memories of his mom were of her teenage face. Nory was not as pretty as she had been, but he had left behind a fourth grader and returned to the doe eyes and round cheeks of the woman whose death had left him orphaned.

Even Nora Marie had never fully understood. Nora Marie had her father, and even Brent had a sister and his parents. For the most formative parts of Adam's childhood, they had only each other. He loved his step-father and his sister, but they had been one orbit removed from mother and son.

Distracted by a sneaker wave of grief, he only caught the second half of his sister's sentence. “Dad started teaching me a year ago.”

Adam turned to face ahead. “Well, you need the supervised hours if you want your license,” he replied. Nory eased out of the driveway and they puttered down the road.

Nory talked. He wished she wouldn't—he was trying to pay attention to the road, and every childhood landmark she pointed out felt like a cheerful stab in the spleen. Being fired from your job and moving back home for counseling at age twenty-five was pretty universally considered “Failure.” And he could hear the undercurrent of the worst part of it. You missed this. You missed that.

And even worse than that was how Nory didn't seem mad at him at all.

Adam tried to keep her focused on the road, both to stem the tide of guilt and for their physical safety. He had heard Nory say that she could fly if she jumped off the roof of the house, so he didn't put much stock in her saying she could drive.

He saw the car veer in front of them the same instant Nory did, but with no wheel in front of him all he could do was stomp his feet into the floor and yell. Terror broke the dam of his frustration and guilt. “What the hell are you doing?” he bellowed. He felt the poisonous relief of releasing anger. “Why didn't you stop sooner? Didn't you see that car?”

Red-faced, Nory squalled in return, “It wasn't supposed to turn! I had the right of way thing, they were supposed to stop!”

The fear for his life didn't drain away fast enough to keep Adam from retorting, “Well they didn't, did they?” Adam shouted. "You could have gotten us both killed!" But his conscience was catching up to him. It hadn't technically been her fault. He forced down the adrenaline and tried to apologize for what he realized was an unfair response. “Look, I'm sorry. I'll show you how to do it tomorrow--”

Nory's spit caught him square in the face as she suddenly burst open. He was caught completely by surprise. And with the sinking feeling came relief. Finally. Finally the little sister that he had abandoned was telling him what he deserved.

Her rage washed over him like acid. It was all true. Within seconds he had begun to cry. Mary, Nory... It was all so close to the surface these days.

For all of them.

He had to try. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. “I'm so sorry,” Adam whispered. “Nory, I'm so, so sorry.” His breath caught in his chest, but he pushed on. “And...and I understand if you'll n-never...”

She didn't forgive him. By the time they reached home, he felt lower and emptier than he had in a long time. Nory didn't leave the car. Neither did he.

She still had both hands on the steering wheel. After a few moments, she asked without looking at him, “You're going to counseling every week, right?”

Adam nodded. Nory said nothing.

He was going to have to earn it back. Like everything else. Well, Adam had never been one to turn away from a task. He wiped his eyes off on his sleeve. “If you want to go driving again tomorrow, I'd be glad to come with you,” he suggested.

“Really?” Nory looked at him in surprise.

Her expression gave him hope. “Yeah,” he agreed. “And the day after.” As much time as it took. “Every day this summer, if you want. You need, what, a hundred supervised hours?” He inhaled. "Wherever you want to go. As long as you want."

She agreed, and Adam smiled. They would have a lot of time to talk. For him to hear whatever she needed to say.

[Sasha Adams]

42. Hiding Place 

Sasha squeezed her eyes shut. The sound of shouting was muffled by the walls, but she pressed both hands over her ears, overwhelmed not by the noise but rather by emotions.



Fear, worry, sadness, isolation all mixed together to form a thick blanket of anxiety over her heart and mind. Why? Why did her father and brothers have to fight all the time?



Never good enough. None of them were ever good enough. In her, this meant he ignored her, a silent rejection that nonetheless cut like a knife.



But in her brothers this brought out sharp words, the pressure of verbal (and often physical) disapproval often resulting in breaking.



She could see the cracks forming during each fight, and they never seemed to heal over.



She didn't want to see her brothers crack.



And so she hid. As soon as her father came home, stomping his feet and prepared to nitpick the smallest thing either Keith or Jesse did, she hid. She ran upstairs and under her bed, cowering until there was only silence.



Sometimes it was her mother who coaxed her out, not into the world again but into loving, comforting arms. Sometimes it was Jesse, always prepared to hold her and give her sweet dreams no matter what he himself had just been through.



Keith never came for her. Instead he would leave the house, slamming the doors and running towards the only people he felt could save him from the horror of his family life. Sasha had no power to help her older brother, and so he didn't come for her.



And if her father ever noticed that his presence drove her into hiding he never said.



Did he notice her? Perhaps she was truly invisible.



Perhaps she didn't need a hiding place after all.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#12 – Photograph

Over breakfast, Josh had informed him that he had a Vermont Bar Association meeting that evening, and that he would be home late that night. The attorney had assured him that he would be home before midnight, as though he was a child who needed to be tucked in. Truthfully, Sean knew that the other man worried about taking him off his routine, and, moreover, since he slept on the pull-out sofa, the attorney was paying him the courtesy of trying not to wake him up when he came home.

Sean appreciated all of that, of course, even if he would miss the other man over dinner. Josh was his only friend. Josh was the only person who spent time with him, except for the visits from Josh’s mother where she asked after Sean, but those were few and far between. Most of the time, the attorney went to visit his parents in Burlington.

He had nobody else in his life, apart from the doctor and the older man who sat in during his appointments.

Still, a Bar Association meeting was an excellent reason to come home late, not that Josh needed a good reason. He was a grown man, and he was doing Sean a favor by allowing him to stay here. He owed Sean nothing beyond that.

Despite that, he left the older man thirty dollars and told him to order whatever he wanted for dinner.

Sean felt guilty about spending the other man’s money, and so he opted for pizza and garlic bread, which was cheaper than Chinese food or anything from the diner or the Mexican place downtown. He hate more carbs than he felt like eating, most of the time, but his doctor assured him this was a necessary part of his diet.

“Do I have some sort of allergies?”

“No. You have a unique metabolism.”

Sean had looked this up online, but none of the health forums had any information about a diet that required mostly carbs. Aside from declaring that gluten was bad for him, which he dismissed as absurd. He trusted his doctor, as perplexing as the younger man could be, far more than he trusted strangers on the Internet.

While waiting for the delivery, he went about looking through Josh’s photo albums again. The attorney gave him free run of his home, as long as he didn’t rummage through his bedroom, which Sean wouldn’t. That was private, of course, and he had already upended the other man’s life so much; he needn’t wear out his welcome by invading Josh’s privacy.

Few of the photos were of them together, and fewer were of Sean alone. Despite the attorney’s assurance that they had been best friends for almost thirty-five years, Sean couldn’t shake the feeling that Josh had exaggerated their connection from a sense of pity and guilt. He knew that Josh had been driving when they had the car crash, although Sean didn’t blame him for his injuries or amnesia.

The other man had a lot of pictures of his family, from holidays, from Bar and Bat Mitzvahs, from weddings and brises, and from parties and vacations. He had pictures of rabbits. He had pictures of parties with coworkers and other friends, but so few of Sean.

One of the only photos he found of them together had a date inscribed on the back of May 1990. Josh looked like he was in college, but, from the date, and from reading other records, Sean knew that the other man had been thirty.

He wore a black robe with colored stripes down the sides, and an eight-sided black graduation cap, with a purple and white tassel. He had some cords adorned over his shoulders, and he held up a diploma in his hands.

Beside him, with one arm slung around Josh’s shoulders, was someone that Sean vaguely recognized as himself. He looked twenty years younger (and a noticeable twenty years they were), and he had brown beard, but his eyes looked the same, as did his hair, he thought, and he was the same size. He wore a suit with a blue tie.

Obviously, he wasn’t graduating that day. He would have been almost thirty-three, according to his driver’s license.

They both smiled and looked happy; Sean thought that his younger self looked proud.

This was one of the only pieces of evidence of their past friendship and connection, and, instantly, it was his favorite.

He thought he might ask Josh if they could make a copy so he could look at it whenever he wanted.

He hoped that wouldn’t come across as weird.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#44 – Bakers’ Dozen

Sean had a sweet tooth.

This was his worst-kept secret, with the possible exception of his past with Josh, depending on how much each man had had to drink and their proximity to one another.

The telepath ate a balanced diet, because he was a responsible adult, but he always had room for dessert.

He couldn’t recall any times that he had turned down dessert, in fact, aside from when he was ill, which didn’t count.

Everywhere he’d lived, he found himself on a first-name basis with all of the employees at each and every bakery in the area. When he’d lived in the Village, and even when he’d lived in Chelsea, there had been at least a dozen bakeries within a few blocks’ walk. He knew everyone, and everyone knew him; he became a favorite customer, because he ordered a lot, he was always friendly and never complained, and he tipped well.

Moving to Pilot Ridge had created a bit of a culture shock.

There were bakeries, of course, but far fewer of them than in the City, and his house was on the other side of town, which meant that he had to drive if he wanted treats. No more walking up a block or two in either direction.

He made do.

He remained Sean Neville, with his sweet tooth and his appetite, which meant that he went to the bakeries, wherever they were.

In fact, he learned that he could plan a route to Hammel from his house and back that would avoid the worst of the rush hour traffic (such as it was in a small town in Vermont, which was nothing compared with traffic in the City) and still take him by his favorite bakery.

He stopped there at least twice each week, sometimes three or four times, depending on how much he had bought during the last visit, whether he had opted to bake at home, and his particular mood at the time. Both bad days and good ones often made him seek out sweets, either as a comfort food or as a celebration, respectively.

Eventually, he built up enough of a rapport with the owners that they offered him a very special arrangement.

Typically, the bakery only delivered for special occasions: events and parties where they catered, weddings or funerals where they provided cake or platters, and for certain holiday events.

Sean, however, had proven such a loyal customer that the owner told him that he could call them for home delivery, and that they would bring him anything they wanted with no delivery minimum. Free of charge, because they knew he tipped well.

The telepath was touched, and he went back home and programmed the bakery’s number into his speed dial. After Josh, Robert, his parents, his sister, Greg, and Hammel.

He vowed not to take advantage of this newfound ability.

However, two weeks later, when Josh was planning to come up for a weekend visit, Sean chose to give it a try.

After pressing the number, he waited for someone on the other end to pick up. When they did, he started, polite as well. “Hello, this is Sean Neville. I’d like to place an order for delivery.”

“Doc, hi! We’ve been waiting on that. Is anything special this weekend?”

“A friend is coming up to visit.”

“That’s nice. So what can we get you?”

“A ten-inch black forest cake, two eclairs, and a dozen black and white cookies.”

“Sure thing, Doc. We’ll be there in half an hour.”

The telepath couldn’t wait for this delivery, and he couldn’t wait to share the spoils with Josh.