Chapter 26

Timmy leaned against the wooden door, his fists aching, and tears running down his face. He slid slowly downward, twisting around until his back touched the old wood. His body shook with the effort of stemming the flood of tears - he was determined not to sob.

He knew, had guessed at some level, what it had meant when he couldn't contact Peter. Peter's empty, abandoned house was the confirmation. Knowing it, and coming face to face with it, were two different things. Damn it, it hurt like Hell. Why had Peter run away?

Part of him turned immediately to hating himself. It was his usual response. Surely he had done something to drive Peter away. The other part, a new and very tiny tentative voice, whispered that surely Peter had run away from himself, not Timmy. It was the first time that Timmy had ever made such a guess about the actions of another person. Maybe, he thought, maybe I didn't do anything wrong?

But holding Peter responsible was more painful to contemplate than blaming himself. If Timmy was at fault, and he tried harder, or more carefully, or somehow differently, if he could just grok that correct answer from the universe, he could change and be deserving of love. If Peter was responsible for his own actions, then Timmy would have to admit that nothing he could do would change Peter. If he couldn't change Peter, then he couldn't do anything to make him come back, and Timmy would remain unloved forever (he believed). Reaching the conclusion that Peter was at fault would compound the pain of loss with feeling utterly helpless and being out of control.

Besides, Peter wasn't available to confront about his actions. No, it was much easier for Timmy to blame himself. It was far, far easier to punish his own being because it was something he could do, something he had control over. He needed to find that evil, dirty part of his soul and cast it out. Self hatred was a powerful force.

Timmy was disgusted at his own cowardice. After escaping from Peter's front porch, Timmy had found the village crew of scum and easily convinced one of the older guys to buy him a pint of 151 rum in exchange for a few dollars. The burning liquor was horrid stuff, but it was high proof and delivered the biggest bang for the buck. The goal was to get drunk, so drunk, that he could work up the courage to draw his khukuri across his wrists. He found a decrepit partially collapsed building along the railroad tracks south of town and drank himself to the point of being sick trying to raise his courage, but his intact, white arms taunted him with their lack of blemish in the palid pre-dawn gloom. Angry and wooden headed, he tried again to draw the knife point up his arm, but achieved nothing more than a thin scratch lightly beaded with blood. "Bleh!," he fumed, throwing the blade against a small bit of remaining wall. Curiously, the bleeding relieved a small bit of his guilty feelings, and he found himself crawling after the knife and cradling it close to him as he lay curled on the ground. He rocked back and forth, tears running across his face, until he fell into stupor.

Sometime later, Timmy again woke to find himself in full sunlight that was streaming through holes in the rotted half-structure. He pulled himself upright, and rubbed at his salt encrusted eyes. His head was surprisingly clear, given the amount of alcohol he had consumed the night before. How much had he drank? To his astonishment, when he looked at the pint bottle laying next to him, only half of the nasty stuff was missing. Oh, he thought, rubbing his head, all that crying is what made me sick.

That thought reminded him of Peter and made him wince. A brief, overwhelming pain surged into his chest and throat. His eyes welled up, but he pushed his despair away and the tears receded. Sniffing once, he made himself get to his feet. He stumbled a little, finding his muscles rebellious after a damp night on exposed dirt (the old floor had given way a long time ago), but he gained his footing soon enough. He suddenly realized he had failed to tell Will he wasn't coming home the night before. Momentarily, the idea of running away so he wouldn't have to deal with Will tempted him, but then he remembered the Judge's charge to him, and he knew he had to go back and face Will.

The long trudge home cleared his brain somewhat, leaving a clear path for images of Peter to assault his memory over and over. Why? his heart cried, but he kept pushing the question and its pain down and away. Nevertheless, by the time he unlocked the door at the top of the stairs and went into the apartment, the sense of loss and grief threatened to overwhelm him.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!" came the shout from Will. The older man stomped down the hallway and got in Timmy's face. "And look at you! You're filthy!"

Timmy sputtered, "I, I, ... Oh, Will!" he burst out. "He's gone, Peter's gone." Great sobs seized him, and he couldn't say any more. He simply fell against Will, who had no option but to throw his arms around the boy just to keep them from falling over.

Suddenly it dawned on Will what Timmy was trying to tell him. "Peter's gone?" he stated. "How do you know?" He pushed Timmy back away, holding him at arms length, shaking him gently to help Timmy get a hold of himself.

Timmy shook and jerked, but managed to get enough control to speak. "I, I went to hiccup his house, and snuffle it was empty."

Will let out a big sigh, closing his eyes for a moment as he rocked Timmy against him. He had actually expected something like this from Peter, but had held out hope that this time Peter would manage to work through his fear. He pulled Timmy back in.

A metallic stench of rotten dirt, old booze and vomit wafted past Will's nose. "Oh, Timmy," Will groaned, "don't tell me you went out and got drunk after you found out."

Timmy guiltily nodded, burrowing his head back into Will's chest. "I'm sorry," he blubbered. "I fucked up. I forgot to call." He didn't try to make any excuses.

Will was surprised and pleased by Timmy's simple admission of guilt. "Say that again without swearing," he demanded of Timmy.

Timmy stepped back away from Will and looked downward. "I, I, I messed up, Will. I didn't even think of calling, cuz I was so crazy when I found out about Peter." He took a deep ragged breath, and glanced quickly at Will and away to the side. "I'm really, really sorry."

Will felt conflict seize his heart. He sighed. "Thank you for that, Timmy. However, I'm really at a loss here. I'm supposed to help you grow up and follow the rules, and you've gone and broken a very important rule. There has got to be a consequence. I can see how upset you are, and I know you weren't thinking clearly last night. I gonna have to stew on this for a while. You do know there is going to be fall out, don't you?"

Timmy nodded, red faced. "Yes," he admitted. "I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't put you in this position."

Will was impressed that Timmy realized his behavior had affected more than just himself. He pulled Timmy into another big hug. "I'm sorry, too, Timmy. I also wish Peter had been man enough to stand his ground with you. God knows I wanted the two of you to work out, you both could have helped each other with your problems." He shook his head. "Peter just can't get over what was done to him." He also silently acknowledged the safety to his own sexuality that having Timmy involved elsewhere had insured, and regretted it was now stripped away.

Timmy looked up at Will. "What do you mean?" he asked, referring only to Will's spoken words.

Will looked back at Timmy for a moment, then decided. "Let's have a cup of tea," he enigmatically replied. He turned and went into the kitchen to put on a kettle of water. Timmy followed, and sat at the table. When the water was hot, Will put the mug in front of Timmy, and sat across from him.

"I've known Peter for a long time," he started. "When we were boys, he lived a couple of houses down the street from me on Seminary Hill, and we were pretty good friends. Peter has a sister a year younger than him, and a little brother about eight years younger. His father and mother were very strict, and he wasn't allowed out to play very often. When he did get out, he and I often got together and hung out, riding our bikes and stuff."

Will played with his mug, his eyes distant. His voice became tentative, more hesitant. "Sometimes we fooled around. Sexually, I mean." He blushed bright red. "I guess Peter was figuring out he was gay. I, er, um, I decided, I mean, I began to go to church a whole lot, and I, uh, didn't want to fool around any more. I didn't, I haven't, ah, done anything since. We were about 13 years old." He blushed brighter. "Except, ah, until you and I..."

Timmy stared. "Wow," he commented, shocked.

"Yeah, well... ," Will noticeably trembled a bit, but pressed on. "Anyway, I stayed away from Peter pretty much for a year or two after that, and then one day there was this awful screaming coming from Peter's house. He and his parents were yelling and fighting, and there was the sound of physical confrontation. It got louder and louder, and then Peter's front door burst open with a smash, and he came running out, his father bellowing and chasing after him. He kept shouting something about Peter being a pervert. I knew Peter was probably heading to a secret hideout we had made in the woods, and I ran to it on a different path. Sure enough, Peter ended up there, having evaded his dad."

Timmy leaned forward, engrossed in the story.

"He was beat up, bruises all over, a big palm print on his face, his eye already beginning to go black. He didn't want to tell me what happened, but I pressed him, and finally he said that his dad had hit him because of what he had caught him doing to his little brother. What? I demanded. What? Here he broke down totally and confessed that he had been, ah, sucking his little brother off, and the sister saw them and told their parents. His dad had exploded."

"Oh, no," groaned Timmy.

"After that, Peter disappeared. No was sign of him, nothing, he was just gone. We were about 16, I guess. A couple of years later, I ran across him working as a carney at the State Fair. He told me he's just gotten out of a mental institution his parents had stuck him into to cure him of his homosexuality," Will recounted, shuddering at the memory. "He was really weird, very freaked out. He was incredibly nervous, and kept looking around like he was paranoid. He told me they had given him electric shock treatments in the mental ward."