Chapter 19

Still there was no sign of Peter. Timmy put a cap on the rising anxiety, sternly telling himself he had misread the situation, that's all. Far away inside a small voice screamed in fear, but Timmy told it to shut up. He wouldn't face what he didn't want to see.

Ignoring doctor's orders, he went to work the next day. He was dragging, for sure, and had to grab onto the edge of the table a couple of times to keep from toppling over, but the cool thing was that the ladies did not expect him to talk and pretty much left him alone. Denise came back and fussed over him a few times, but he secretly enjoyed her mothering. When his output for the day was way below normal, and didn't even begin to approach meeting quota, Denise waved it off and told him he'd be back up to snuff in a day or two. He realized she was proud of him for having come in that day and making any effort at all.

After work, it was all Timmy could do to propel himself to Nation's in the cold drizzle that had set in. Being so high in the mountains, the weather in the State could be exhilaratingly breathtaking one moment, and utterly miserable the next, even in the height of summer. He made it to a stool at the bar, and requested a hot coffee from Mike. Timmy rested his elbow on the bar, and his chin in his hand, as he sipped the warmth.

There were only a couple of other customers, given how early it was and the foul weather. Mike watched Timmy as he made busy work for himself washing some already clean glasses in the little sink behind the bar. "Hey, Buddy," he quietly asked Timmy, "You ok?" He looked around to make sure no one heard him ruin his reputation for being an asshole.

Timmy was aware enough to give Mike a conspiratorial smirk. He pointed to his throat. "Had my surgery," he whispered.

"Oh, that's right," said Mike, nodding vigorously. "Well, don't say anything, just nod yes or no. You hanging out for any reason tonight?"

Timmy shook his head NO, and then wanted to say more. "No ride," he managed. "Will hitch later."

Mike scowled at him. "No, I don't think so," he said sternly. "Brian is coming in shortly, and lord knows, we don't need two people behind the bar right now. I'll drive you home when he gets here."

Timmy began to protest, but Mike held up his hand. "Shut up, boy, that's the way it's going to be. Just don't tell anyone, and take that as a warning."

Timmy's face crinkled up with amusement and gratitude.

Timmy allowed himself to doze in and out as he rode in Mike's steamy old Volvo. Mike didn't expect conversation, and was happily humming to himself as he drove along. Timmy quietly reflected on the people who had helped him out lately, and realized with surprise there were quite a few individuals in his life who cared for him and expected little or nothing in return. Peter's face flashed across his inner eye for a second before he was able to turn the picture off and drag his thoughts elsewhere. Timmy was not consciously aware yet, but some small part of him was awakening to understand that he was lovable.

Later that night he came awake while it was still pitch black, feeling uneasy. As he became more alert, he identified what he was smelling as smoke. He jumped up and began investigating the apartment. He even knocked at Will's door, and then looked in when there was no response. Will was not in his bed. Not finding the source there or anywhere inside, he went back in his room and threw his clothes on. The odor seemed to be greatest near the open front windows, so he decided to go downstairs and check. As he reached for the door knob, the door burst open, and a smoke besmirched, wide eyed Will tumbled in.

"Wha, what's going on?" asked a frightened Timmy.

"McGivern's Rooming House is burning down. Ohmygod, it's horrible. I heard screaming, Timmy, screaming. Someone was burning to death," Will sobbed.

Timmy was stunned. Ted and Billy lived in the rooming house. He rushed out.

He couldn't go further than the corner. The entire lower part of Main Street was filled with emergency vehicles of every kind. He could see the rooming house, and he could see the flames shooting out of the top and consuming the whole building. Torrents of water were being aimed at the fire, but were having little or no effect. Figures bulked up by firemen's coats and hats teemed in the street but could get no closer. The whole scene was terrifying and too real in the strobe of the flashing lights. A dismal, sooty rain fell on everything.

It was sickening to watch, and he left. He trudged back up the stairs and found Will shivering in a stupor in the kitchen. He pulled Will to him and gave him an encompassing hug, then made them both warm cups of herb tea. The two sat vigil, not saying anything, for a long time. Finally, Timmy pulled Will into bed, and cuddled him until they both fell into unsettled sleep.

Timmy woke up a couple of hours later. The sky was just lightening, so it was very early. He was completely awake, and he knew getting more sleep was not going to be an option. He gently disengaged his arms from Will, and slipped out of bed. He quietly took a shower to take off the worse of the stink of the smoke. After the cleansing he still smelled the fumes, but it wasn't on his skin. He knew he'd smell the stench for a long time.

He went down to check out the current situation. There were fewer fire trucks and police cars, and the ambulances had all gone. He was able to make it to the diner, which was located about half way between the apartment and what little remained of the rooming house. From there, he could see a couple of large and blackened timbers sticking up where the house used to be, dark trails of smoke, and that was all. There was nothing else left.

Although it was five o'clock, an hour earlier than the diner's usual opening, the place was already lit up and serving food in response to the tragedy. Several weary rescue workers and cops were drinking coffee and reliving the incident. Timmy slid into a booth near a couple of soot smudged men, and turned slightly so he could hear their conversation. He blew on the hot coffee the waitress brought him, and listened in.

"Aw, that poor kid. I hope he makes it."

"If he does, he'll never play drums again. There was no meat on his hands when I got to him, just bones. I'll always remember that, just bones like a skeleton..."

"He'll be lucky to be alive. Ohmygod, all those people, and just he and the girl got out. At least she's ok, a broken arm and a leg, but she's ok."

"If they hadn't been in the room over the river and had the courage to jump onto the rocks, they'd be dead, too."

"Andreas McGivern should be shot. That place was a pile of dry kindling waiting to go up. The richest man in town, and he let that place get like that."

"Ssshhh, you don't know who's listening." The conversation dropped too low for Timmy to hear.

Timmy felt nausea rise up into his chest. Billy Numbers was hurt bad, and Ted Cobb was dead. He dropped his face into his hands and cried. So close tragedy had come to him. He'd never get to hear Billy play, never party with Ted again. And Danny, how would Danny take this?

It was with a weary soul that Timmy took himself to work that morning. He got a ride right down through to the main town, and all the driver wanted to talk about was the fire. Timmy mostly just grunted and nodded, telling the guy that he had just had his tonsils out and couldn't speak much. He was glad of having the excuse, he didn't want say anything in case he burst out crying again. It could have so easily been him and Will in their rickety old apartment. That fool Paul, he had brought on his own death, but Ted and Billy had done nothing to merit what happened. Fate had been so random, so ruthless. He felt very depressed. Why keep trying, why work so hard, when it could all be ripped away in a second?

He got through the work day by rote, thankful yet again that conversation was nigh impossible. He was still washed out from the tonsil removal, and he was exhausted from lack of sleep. His meager paycheck, reflecting the time he lost, failed to raise his spirits when it was delivered, although he was glad he had the funds to score something to make the pain go away. At least the rain had stopped. After work, he walked to Carrie Nation's in the 4:30 p.m. heat of a late July summer in New England.

He was dreading facing Danny, but the young man didn't seem to be there, not yet. A few regulars were there, one of which was Bob, whom he avoided. No sense giving Bob any idea that Timmy was the slightest bit interested in being Bob's kept boy. Rick, on the other hand, had a much more casual interest in Timmy, only wanting a brief fuck now and again, and was willing to simply be friends and enjoy some meaningless flirtation with Timmy the rest of the time. Best of all, Rick would happily buy Timmy alcohol, because Timmy was always very careful to make sure no one saw him drinking it, and would express his gratitude with free sex occasionally. Tonight, he raised his eyebrow, but bought Timmy the hard drinks he asked for without hesitation, using Timmy's money so there'd be no obligation. After a couple of good ones, Timmy began to loosen up.