No Enemy But Time (A Brandywine Investigations Universe Story) (8 page)

Charon patted his shoulder on his way by to add to the growing pile of supplies by the door. "You've been pretty horrid, but we forgive you."

Zack successfully fought the eye roll that wanted to follow that. "But I think it'll be better for him. Just the two of us. A place he knows, where he felt peaceful."

"Zagreus," his father growled. "You have a phone. Use it."

He took that as permission to go without further fuss. Sometimes Dad was obtuse about what other people felt, but sometimes he got Zack faster than anyone else did. He left them with the task of loading up the Jeep, certain there would be several items (like the cooler) among the groceries and supplies that he would be expected to return. Not something he could worry about.

The blinds were drawn in the guest room, Michael propped up against his pile of pillows. He did turn his head and blink at Zack. No smile, no word of greeting, but Zack saw it as progress. His heart had broken a little more each day since he'd taken Michael's second pair of wings, until now… Now he wasn't sure there was enough left to put back together. Left with a smear of heart, could you really still love someone? Or was it a sense of duty that he told himself was love?

It didn't matter. He had destroyed Michael, completely, utterly. With his own blood-drenched hands, he had ripped the light out of his eyes. Some nights, Zack still woke up screaming.

In theory, it had been the only way. When the angels came to banish Michael from heaven, they ripped out his glorious, shining wings. Zack had reasoned that the brushfire, transient power of the fallen came from their second set of wings. Fallen angels who gained human followers sometimes became godlike, their lives extended indefinitely. Of course, the angels' instruments had been better suited to the task, and though Michael had suffered horribly, he hadn't fed the ground with three-quarters of his blood when he lost his first wings.

Zack had removed his second wings by sheer, brutish force. This was obviously not the recommended method. No one could tell him what happened after a fallen angel's second wings were removed. Maybe no one had ever done it before, but the forcible ripping away of that much power had caused devastating psychic and physical trauma, almost as if Michael's spine and brain had been injured in a high-speed collision.

"All set to go. We're going home." Zack wrapped the blankets around Michael and lifted him, his body achingly light. The wheelchair was already packed. It should have been harder to carry him to the elevator and down to the parking garage, but Zack wasn't even breathing hard by the time they reached the Jeep.

"Love you," Zack murmured against Michael's forehead as he settled him into the passenger seat and buckled him in. He didn't need a response, but he still needed to say it.

Numerous hugs and promises later, they were on the road home. Zack took the back roads Michael liked best, though he regretted it when Michael's breath caught and he gripped the armrest on the passenger side as they passed a particular bit of marsh. Zack wasn't certain how Michael recognized it, but from the timing and the crossroad they had passed, he was certain Michael had changed at that spot.

The panic in Michael's eyes was the closest sign of emotion since his second fall and Zack's heart smear broke just a little more. He reached over and squeezed Michael's free hand, the one not holding the door in a death grip. Michael didn't respond but he didn't pull away either. Maybe that was good.

 
The house… Had they really only been gone a month? Everything looked the same. Oh, the grass was a little shaggy out front, but Zack had hired a service to cut it once in the interim. Someone watched as he pulled into the drive and got Michael's wheelchair out. He didn't care. Let the neighbors stare and wonder. Most of the houses were farther up the street anyway, only their house and Mrs. Pendleton's at the end by the creek. He moved Michael gently from car to wheelchair and then into the house, all his hopes dying when there was still no reaction.

At least I can take care of you here, in peace.

He debated putting Michael right to bed, but that didn't seem healthy. He'd already spent three weeks curled up under the covers. Instead, he left the wheelchair in the kitchen, facing Michael toward the window so he could see all of their suncatcher friends.

"I think they missed you." He kissed the top of Michael's head. "Norbert probably most of all."

Again, he received no response, but he could be patient. He had to be, now. After he had brought everything in from the car and had put the groceries away, he had a better idea. With a lot of grunting and a little swearing, Zack carried Michael, wheelchair and all, down the back steps and into the yard to set him down by his butterfly garden.

Have to put a ramp in there. Especially if Michael starts trying to get around by himself.

There it was again, that little niggle of optimism that refused to go away. He wished it would. At least the weather was beautiful and Michael's flowers were in full bloom, busy with bees and yellow sulphur moths. The chime of the doorbell reached him in the yard and he tamped down on exasperation. Maybe he wouldn't open it…

It rang again, and a third time. "All right, all right…" Zack clomped back through the house and yanked the door open. At first, he saw no one until a throat cleared and he looked down at Mrs. Pendleton, their only next-door neighbor. Tiny, white-haired, and carrying a casserole dish that had to be half her body weight, she smiled up at him.

"Hello, there! I saw you come home and wondered if you could use some dinner." She peered around him, trying to see into the house. "Is Michael all right?"

No, he's not, you nosy old biddy…
Zack closed his eyes on a slow, indrawn breath. Mrs. Pendleton was just trying to help. If he'd managed not to alienate most of the family through all this, he could deal with a nice old lady.

"Come on in. Michael's out back right now, enjoying the sunshine." Zack took the casserole with a murmured "Thank you," and led her back into the kitchen.

"Is he sick?" Mrs. Pendleton asked in a hushed voice. "Does he have that AIDS thing?"

"No, ma'am." Zack put the casserole on the counter and fussed with making coffee. There. He could be hospitable, too. "We… went upstate to have a couple of… growths removed from his back."

"Oh, dear. Do the doctors think they got it all?"

Zack had to stop for another slow breath.
Who the hell knows?
"We hope so. But the… the operation…There's, I guess, neurological damage. He can't walk yet. Doesn't always…" ever "track what's going on around him."

"You poor boys." Mrs. Pendleton patted his arm. "Give it time. My Harold, rest his soul, regained most of the use of his legs after his first stroke. Let me know if you end up needing a walker or anything to help with mobility. I still have everything in the garage."

"Oh… thank you." Zack had to turn away for a moment, all the sun and the dust in the house apparently irritating his eyes. She was kind enough to let him collect himself without comment, and they chatted a few minutes more about the weather before she said her goodbyes.

Just a quick peek outside to see if Michael's all right… oh, fuck.

Zack dashed outside to where Michael lay sprawled on the grass, his wheelchair having rolled out of reach. With a little cry of dismay, he took the back steps in one jump and flung himself down beside Michael.

"You okay? Did you fall? Were you trying to get up?"

Michael, propped up on one hand, his useless legs bent at the knees, wasn't sitting stock-still, though. His left hand trembled like a caterpillar-laced leaf in the wind, but he reached and tugged methodically at the little shoots of chickweed cropping up between his marigolds.

"Michael?" Zack stared, afraid to move and break the spell. Michael was
weeding
.

"The lupines are coming up."

"The… what did you say?" Zack's heart cracked just a hair more to hear that beloved voice again.

"The lupines," Michael pointed a shaking hand toward the back of the bed. "Wasn't sure they would."

There it was. The final crack. Zack's heart finally lay in nothing but shattered pieces in the grass. "Michael? Do you know me?"

After three weeks of blank stares, Michael finally looked at him with those impossibly blue eyes, free of red, free of malice. "I know you. I… do. Could you help? This is hard for me."

With tears streaming down his face, Zack helped Michael into a more comfortable position, letting him lean back against Zack's side. He kept having to wipe his eyes on his T-shirt sleeve, but it didn't matter.

Love wasn't the answer to everything. That was a hard lesson to learn. But it was more than enough for sitting in the sun, pulling weeds. It was more than enough to start the seeds of two new, stronger hearts growing again beside the butterfly garden.

The End

About Angel Martinez

While Angel Martinez is the erotic fiction pen name of a writer of several genres, she writes both kinds of gay romance – Science Fiction and Fantasy. Currently living part time in the hectic sprawl of northern Delaware, (and full time inside the author's head) Angel has one husband, one son, two cats, a changing variety of other furred and scaled companions, a love of all things beautiful and a terrible addiction to the consumption of both knowledge and chocolate.

For more information on Angel's work, please visit:

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Erotic Fiction for the Hungry Mind

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*Also available as single titles

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Variant Configurations

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Diego: Endangered Fae 2

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About Mischief Corner Books

Mischief Corner Books is an organization of superheroes… no, it's a platinum-album techno-fusion group… no, hold on a sec here…

Ah yes. Mischief Corner Books is a diverse group of authors who met on a mountain in Tennessee and decided since they were probably too easily distracted to rule the world that they'd settle for causing a bit of mayhem instead.

In addition to making mayhem, we publish books with a diverse range of genres and topics... we live to break molds.
 

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