"Hungry?"

Zane looked up to see the crude reflection of the young man who'd spoken. In the grimy windows of the restaurant he had been eyeing hungrily for the past hour, the figure cautiously approached where Zane sat on the curb.

Zane was surprised when he glanced back over his shoulder. Though the clothes were mismatched--worn jeans, a faded T-shirt peeking through the rips in a pullover--the body beneath them was perfect: the full torso of an athlete, with strong limbs and rich brown skin. And the face had chiseled cheekbones and a wide nose.

The stranger nodded towards the window and spoke again. "Want to go inside?"

Zane shook his head, brushing aside several locks of long red hair that fell into his blue eyes. "No cash." He lacked even a wallet. On his first night inside the Fallen Area, a pack of guys had jumped him--they threw him against a wall and started kicking him when he fell, their dirty sneakers vicious against his stomach and legs. Then they'd taken everything of worth from him, even a cheap watch.

The young man--who couldn't have been much older than Zane, maybe twenty at most--smiled, showing rows of white teeth. "Don't need any. C'mon." He opened the thick wooden door and went inside.

Zane hesitated a moment. After the mugging, he didn;t think he could trust anyone Inside anymore, but his stomach lurched at the thought of finally eating something--yesterday morning he had found himself staring at a pigeon pecked at a scrap of bread on the sidewalk, and feeling almost envious of the bird.

The restaurant was one long room in complete disarray. The few people eating sat on salvaged church pews. Zane glanced at the windows, curious whether they were stained glass, but they gaped empty except for some crumbling mortar.

Zane followed the other boy to an empty pew. They sat down near the end of the pew, a few feet apart. As soon as Zane leaned back against the scarred wood, the weariness he'd been fending off took over. He didn't remember closing his eyes, but a firm shake of his shoulder roused him.

"Let me guess. First night in the Fallen?"

Zane hesitated before answering. The other boy had moved nearer on the pew, was not only inches away. Zane was too tired to really care. "No. Third." The word came out in a cranky tone, and was followed by a yawn.

The other boy nodded absently.

The smell of food intensified as a rough squeal heralded a pushcart loaded with pots and plates. The man who pushed it looked every bit like a beast of burden: low to the ground and squat, arms and legs thick and heavily furred, and a flat flushed face lost between wide ears. He wheezed and whistled as he approached the two young men.

"Saj, you're back," the large man said to the brown-skinned guy. "What's this, twice this week? I think you like my food after all."

Saj shrugged and grinned. "It's easier than catching a meal."

The man laughed, a rough sound that culminated in a wet cough, and abruptly removed the nearest lid. Steam rose up from whatever simmered inside, carrying the smell of spices to them.

Zane watched as Saj reached for a bowl from the cart. He took a chipped ceramic bowl for his own share. The man ladled out generous helpings. Each dripped brown and greasy, but Zane didn't care. It smelled like actual food.

"Henry, this makes us even from last time."

The man narrowed already tiny eyes at Saj for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine, whatever." He then turned to Zane. "Pay up." Henry held out a meaty hand. The wrinkles and creases were outlined with dirt. Or maybe the dried remains of the stew.

"I-I thought..." Zane turned to Saj, panic rising in his chest. "You said I didn't need cash."

Henry chuckled, which brought up some loose phlegm that nearly choked the man.

Saj slid down the pew away from Zane. "Well, I meant to tell you that Henry here doesn't take cash--not everyone Inside does. But you seemed so slick, after spending, what, three days here. I figured you were savvy and knew how everything's played."

Zane groaned. "All right, I'm sorry for being an asshole." He looked back up at the immense man. "What do you want for it?" Immediately he regretted asking; Henry eyed him intently. Zane wasn't that hungry.

"It's a small bowl. Hmmm. How about two snips?" Henry's bloated fingers made a scissoring motion.

Zane paled in confusion.

"He wants some of your hair," said Saj. He looked amused.

"Oh." Zane instinctively brushed his fingers across his forehead, but his hair for once had stayed out of his eyes. He nearly chuckled at the weird request, but Henry's constant stare made him inwardly shudder. "Okay."

The chef rummaged around on the crowded cart for a moment before lifting up a wicked-looking pair of scissors, the jagged-bladed variety used to cut bones. Zane shut his eyes tightly, waiting.. He started to count to himself to keep calm, and on fifteen felt a slight tug.

An audible snip, then another.

When Zane opened his eyes, Henry's fat lips grinned at the two locks of hair he held in his left hand. He pushed a few strands to the edge of his fingers and blew lightly. The hair flew off and a flash of fire erupted in the air. Zane blinked wildly, shocked that his face wasn't singed.

"Love red hair." Henry muttered. He pushed his cart away towards his next customer.

A black sky loomed overhead when they left the restaurant. Zane had trouble walking. His eyes felt as heavy as his feet, and he realized that tonight he would not be able to stay awake as he'd struggled to do the past few nights.

Saj gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "You need a place to stay?"

"Yeah," Zane muttered.

"Come back with me."

Zane groggily nodded. During the past couple of nights he had slept only a few hours, when he could no longer stay awake, in a doorway near the gates to the Fallen Area. The thought of a soft place to collapse became irresistible.

Saj lived on the top floor of a not-too-distant building. Zane rested his head against the elevator wall. The elevator seemed to have had too many buttons, and most of them had weird lettering instead of numbers.

The sliding doors opened on a dim hall. Zane trudged along after Saj, thankful when they stopped at an apartment door. Saj smiled at him as he turned a key in the lock. Inside, a bare bulb hung from the ceiling and flickered annoyingly. A mattress on the floor, layers of colorful blankets, and lots of pillows kept the front room from being empty. Cracks in the graying plaster decorated the bare walls.

Saj pointed across the room at a far door. "There's the bathroom. The rest I wouldn't bother with." He began pulling off clothes: first the sweater, then the shirt underneath. Bare-chested, he hesitated a moment in front of Zane, who blushed deeply and turned his head to stare out the window.

"I'm going to take a shower," he heard Saj call out. A moment later the door closed. and soon the soothing sound of water running filled the apartment.

Zane sank to his knees amid all the pillows with a sigh. The memory of a shirtless Saj, with his perfect, smooth, muscular chest, stayed with him, making it even easier to relax in bed. He was asleep soon after laying his head down.

Zane stirred awake when he felt the mattress sag under the other's weight. Saj's bare skin gave off a cool and fresh aura. "Can I touch you?" he whispered in Zane's ear. Zane struggled to keep his eyes open, and lightly grunted, sleepily rolling over onto his back so his body brushed against Saj. He shivered when a cool hand slipped underneath his T-shirt and began stroking his stomach. But though part of him was stirring, by the time the wet kisses began on his neck, he was falling asleep again.

Afternoon light reached Zane's eyes, turning his dreams to shades of amber and then red. He blinked away sleep and stretched, his arm narrowly missing the naked boy wrapped around him. He stopped moving and remembered last night, how he came to be lying there, in a stranger's room, lying next to a young man with skin that looked like warm chocolate.

Zane touched Saj's bare arm, and sure enough, the skin felt warm. His fingers went up along the arm, over the smooth shoulder and down to the boy's chest, until they circled the few dark hairs that surrounded Saj's nipple. Zane marveled at how his hand had taken a direction of its own, possessed by a need to explore new territory, and he started to smile.

Then Saj's eyes opened, and Zane jumped a little, bringing his hand up to his mouth as if the fingertips were singed. "Morning."

Zane brought up his legs and rested his chin on his knees. "Hey." He felt flushed, embarassed, and excited, all in one dizzying mix.

"Sleep okay?"

He nodded. "Thanks for letting me spend the night. He sniffed away some morning congestion and rubbed his face.

"No prob." Saj slipped his hand between the bent legs, so his fingers were at the edge of the boxers Zane wore. Both boys became very still. Then Saj's fingertips began to venture into the leg of the boxer, gently sliding up the thigh.

Zane closed his eyes. Once he had been at a rave, lying in a sweaty puddle of other kids. One boy had leaned over and, as the DJ moved the electric sounds around the speakers, Zane had realized they were kissing. He almost stopped, but it felt really good to work his mouth around the other's tongue. The X, he told himself. Only when the girls he had come to the rave with started to giggle and drape their candy-colored beads around his head did he stop. They'd teased him for the rest of the school year.

Now a guy was touching him. Really touching him. The sensation of the fingers slowly moving over his trembling skin was heady, like a shot of nitrous. Zane's breath caught in his chest and he remained still except for the occasional shudder as Saj continued to explore until finally he began stroking Zane's hard dick. Saj's eyes, round and brown, drank in Zane's gaze. The speed of the touch began to quicken, and Zane found himself groaning; he clenched his teeth together, ashamed at hearing his voice so weak and needy. But that could not stop the rush, and without thinking, he spread his legs more and began to rock slightly, back and forth, in time with the rhythm kept by Saj's hand. When he came, each nerve sent scrambled signals like an epileptic fit, and his body shook as he shot white strands all over the other boy's arm and the covers beneath them.

Zane collapsed back onto the covers and absently covered his face with one bent arm. He couldn't bring his mind to relax; could not even think. It took all his effort to calm down, listen to his racing heartbeat. The sound of Saj rising for the bathroom, heard, the rush of water as the toilet flushed were so mundane they brought his thought back to where he was. Zane moved his arm aside and saw the older boy, no wearing faded boxers, sit down on the bare floorboards not far from him.

Something shiny flashed in his hand. A razor blade, the old fashioned double-edged kind. "What are you doing?"

Saj looked at him suddenly, as if startled. "Oh, don't worry... it's for me. I-I have to come down."

Nervous curiosity made Zane slide a little closer to Saj, and he noticed for the first time all the pale lines that crisscrossed the other boy's hands and forearms. How had he missed them before?

"Come down?"

Saj nodded. He lightly laid one edge of the razor blade against the back of his left hand. "Yeah... whenever I get too excited, too emotional...," he said in a hushed voice. "Well if I cut myself, it brings me back down."

Zane felt himself blush. "I made you excited?" It seemed so odd for Saj to say, if only because Zane was the one that had been taken over the edge.

Saj grinned again, that wonderful smile. "Yeah. And, well, happy too."

Zane watched with utter fascination as the young man's fingers moved fast and the blade bit lightly into the dark skin to leave a thin red line. Zane held his breath as the blood started to fall. Not in drops, but as a thin long stream. When it reached the floor, it pooled a moment, then began to scuttle, dragging from what had become a small plump red thorax and abdomen a thread of blood still connected to Saj's hand. Zane leapt to his feet and backed away, heart pounding.

"Don't be scared," Saj said. with almost routine skill, his other hand broke the slender thread. The wound was already closing. The crimson spider rushed off to disappear into the shadows in a corner of the room.

"I-I heard things happen Inside." Zane looked down at the young man and slowly shook his head. He looked so normal, but this...

"It's okay. I'm okay." Saj spoke slowly, calmly. "Things do happen here." He rose up in a smooth, graceful motion. Hiding the cut arm behind him, he moved to where Zane stood by the window.

"Do you want to stay in or go out with me today?"

Zane caught himself thinking how normal Saj looked on the outside. More than normal, beautiful. Glad to talk about something else, the younger boy shrugged.

"What will you be doing?"

"Work. I scavenge for things to sell." With a regretful sigh, Saj headed towards a battered chest of drawers set against the wall. He began to rummage through the clothes. "Sometimes you can find some cool things." He found a T-shirt with cut-off sleeves and pulled it on, then grabbed some torn blue jeans. "I never wear new clothes to work."

"Like what's some of the stuff you've found?"

Saj closed a drawer and thought for a moment, casually leaning against the cheap furniture. "Fur coats--bitch to carry but lots of folk like to sleep on them. Sporting goods are always in demand. I once found an old telephone that an anthvoke paid me big money for."

Zane had never heard of an anthvoke, but he suddenly found himself asking, "Anything to drink or pop?"

Saj furrowed his brow a moment, which made him look years older. "You mean liquor or pills, right?"

Zane nodded. He couldn't tell if Saj was cool with him asking.

Saj nudged him with a bare foot. "If you really want that stuff, well, we can try a pharmacy, but they were one of the first sites cleaned out after the Fall. Might have to love being dry for a while."

Zane reached for the clothes he had worn yesterday and the day before and the day before that. He took a tentative sniff and wrinkled his face. That meant he probably smelled just as bad. "Can I take a shower before we go?"

When he came out of the Spartan bathroom with a spare towel around his waist, he found his clothes gone. He could feel Saj looking him over. He felt awkward standing there, unsure of what he should do.

"I think those will fit you," Sajd said with a nod towards the dresser. Atop it was a neatly folded pile. Saj sat near the front door, lacing up his sneakers. A beat-up backpack swung over his shoulder. Against the wall leaned a golf club.

Zane picked up the clothes. A gray T-shirt and sweat shorts and blue designer boxers. "Thanks."

Saj didn't answer, just grinned at him. That only made Zane all the more uneasy. How could the guy act so comfortable around Zane, like they were old friends? He couldn't bring himself to drop the towel there in the same room, and felt his face burning as he took the offered clothes back with him to the bathroom and changed.

Zane didn't really pay attention to where they were going; he just followed Saj as they went down one street, crossed over to the next. They passed dozens of buildings, most of them looking abandoned or decaying.

"No one ever drives?" He hadn't seen a running car since entering the Fallen, just forgotten heaps lying either in the street or on the sidewalk. He had nearly slept in a battered Honda the first night, but something large and scaly had slithered under the seat when he'd opened the door.

"Nah. Gas is too expensive and all that technology is just begging to be messed."

Saj had brought the golf club along with him. He raised the end and pointed down an alley on their right. Someone had spraypainted graffiti on the nearest wall.

"So who's Moil?"

"It's a warning, not a name. There are others, but that's the easiest to remember. Just don't go down there."

Like he would just wander down strange alley anyway? Still, he was curious what was so dangerous down there. All he could see were piles of refuse.

"Heap."

"What?"

"I think there's a heap down there — at least, that's what we call them. Something big and real nasty amid all the crap and trash just swallows you up."

Zane gave a nervous chuckle but felt better only when they were far from the alley. "So where are we going?"

"What you said earlier made me remember this one placed filled with doctors' offices, not that far from here." Saj glanced around, as if to get his bearings. "I think it's been untouched since the Fall."

"Cool." Zane remembered one classmate in the high school he had abandoned whose father was an allergist or something. She always came to raves with some new colorful pill to share.

The glass front doors of the building had long ago been shattered. Nasty looking shards, all encrusted with grime, framed the way inside. Saj went though first, lightly tapping the floors, then the walls, with the golf club. He nodded at Zane to come in.

"Caution's your best friend."

Zane scowled slightly behind Saj's back. His father used that same tone, especially after the first scotch and soda of the evening, and it always bothered Zane. No matter what the words were, the meaning was simple and clear: that Zane was nothing more than a child. He fought down the memory and went over to the far wall, on which hung an encased directory of all fifteen floors. He tapped at the plastic shield covering the letters. A few fell from the board like dead insects.

"Looks like there a lot of doctors here," he muttered, needing to say something.

"Were. I doubt any survived." Saj headed around the lobby corner. "Here are the elevators," he called out. "All dead.... Found the stairs," he added. "Anything on the second or third floor?"

Zane scanned the board. "Nope. What's rheumatology?"

"Muscles and bones I think," Saj answered absently.

"There's a doc of that on the fifth floor. That's the first one."

"Shit," Saj said.

Zane walked over to where Saj stood by the stairwell door. He looked through the small wired-glass panel but could see nothing beyond but darkness. Sak unslung and unzipped his backpack, reaching in for a flashlight, one of those mean-looking plastic ones wrapped in thick rubber. "Hope you don't mind climbing a few flights."

"Sokay."

Saj led the way, letting Zane carry the golf club. The lonely flashlight beam illuminated the empty stairs. The door shutting behind them echoed, far too ominous for Zane's comfort.

Saj paused on the first landing. "You see anything move, tell me," he whispered. "If it's within reach, smash it."

Close together, the moved slowly and carefully, trying to be silent. The air in the stairwell hung hot and stale, and by the time they reached the third flight, both had broken a sweat. At the fifth landing, Zane watched and held his breath as Saj checked first the door, then the hall, which was, oddly, not as dark as the others. After a right turn, then a left, they saw a faint light coming down the corridor from beneath a far door.

"Damn," Saj said under his breath, and shook his head. "I should have figured."

"What is it?" Zane whispered, his face so close that his lips were practically touching the other young man's smooth cheek. It made him shiver on the inside, andhe wished he could just bring himself to lean in a little more and kiss him.

"I don't know," Saj absently reached out and squeezed Zane's shoulder comfortingly.

There was enough light to make out the sign on the door. Sure enough, it was the rheumatologist. Saj pressed his ear to the door a moment, then tried the handle. Unlocked, it turned easily, and the bluish light that spilled out blinded them for a moment. Beyond, they glimpsed the waiting room, the window for the receptionist area, and another door, ajar, that led deeper into the office. The overhead panels were dark, and whatever illuminated the area flickered slightly.

Zane watched from the doorway as Saj stepped in, turned to the right, and then stepped back in shock. He muttered something, too quiet for the younger boy to hear, and his expression held a mix of disgust and sadness.

"What?" Zane hesitated another second then went in.

People sat in the waiting room. Not many; he counted five: two old ladies sitting next to each other, engrossed in the magazines on their laps; a young mother watching her toddler wander around the floor; and a middle-aged man, who seemed ready to fall asleep. Not one looked up to notice Saj and Zane standing there. All of them were bathed in that spooky light, not from the lamps on the table but emanating from and surrounding the metal and vinyl chairs, the end tables, and the bored people.

Zane took a step towards them. Saj reached out for him but was too late to prevent him from walking into solid air. He struck with not enough force to hurt, but the impact shook him.

"What the fuck?" Zane reached out and his hand met a smooth barrier, invisible to the eye. His fingers felt a tingle like static electricity, and the fine red hairs on the back of his hand and along his forearm stood up and took notice. The people on the other side continued with their tedium. "It's like they're on television." Zane stroked the air, feeling the expanse of the wall.

"Must have happened with the Fall." Saj had already moved to the receptionist's window and was glancing in.

"You mean they've been in there since then? Shit." The thought of being trapped like that forever made him shudder.

Saj shrugged. "There's nothing we can do. Leave them." He had already walked over to the other door. "Let's get what we came for."

The rest of the office was in darkness, and the farther they moved from the waiting room, the more dependent they were on the flashlight. Along the hallway were examination rooms.

Zane felt on edge, peering back behind him towards the waiting room; though out of sight, he knew those people were still back there, trapped, and it unnerved him. The air seemed worse than the stairwell's, so heavy and oppressive that the sweat-soaked shirt he wore felt like thick wool.

Saj found a supply closet filled with drug samples. "Keep watch." He opened his backpack and began to check out the many bottles and packets, choosing some to throw into the bag. The rest were relegated to the closet floor.

Beads of sweat rolled down into Zane's eyes, burning his vision. He lifted an arm to wipe his sight clear, and thought he saw something pitch black move, far down the hall. He squinted, still feeling the salt sting, and waited, and saw something shift, as if one of the shadows had moved an inch or two closer.

"Saj. Something's here," he hissed.

The other boy stopped and shone the flashlight beam down the corridor. Nothing in the beam. "What did it look like?"

"I don't know. It was black, along the wall and hard to see. You're the fucking expert." An edge of hysteria crept into his whisper.

"Shit. Like I thought."

He suddenly took Zane by the arm and pulled him through the doorway of the nearest empty examination room, then shut the door behind them and turned the lock.

"Help me," he said and began opening all the cabinets and drawers. "Grab all the bottles of rubbing alcohol."

Zane did as he was told, hearing the urgency in Saj's voice. He felt a measure of relief that there was something he could do, a simple task that did not require him to think and remember how confused he was.

Saj picked up a bottle, unscrewed the cap and emptied it over Zane's head.

"Hey! What the fuck?" He regretted crying out, but the alcohol on his skin and hair had chilled him like a sudden ice bath.

"We have to pour all of this over ourselves." Saj had already opened the next bottle. "Trust me."

Zane shivered when more alcohol spilled over him, splashing down his shirt, dripping over his arms. A weird calm settled over him, like a child watching others rush around but feeling distant and apart from them, lost in the observation. He looked at Saj, who frantically drenched him. Then Saj said, "I need you." The numbness changed to real fear. Zane grabbed the nearest bottle, twisted off the cap and began wetting down Saj. A harsh, medicinal smell clung to both of them like a thick aura.

Zane saw the thing's claw first. It slipped through the crack between the door and the frame, resembling a blackened, shriveled leaf twitching in the wind. It slid through, scratching, finally reaching up and clutching the knob and unlocking the door.

The thing swept into the room then, a mass of black moth wings fluttering madly. No real body, nothing resembling a head, simply countless arms ending in sharp spindle claws that raked the air. It rushed at Zane, who screamed, lifting his arms to shield his face and chest, the nine-iron he held forgotten.

"Don't panic. Alcohol's poison to it." But even Saj's voice trembled.

Zane expected the pain of countless claws slashing his flesh but felt only the cool sensation of the alcohol drying on his skin. He brought down his arms and saw that the creature had backed up against the wall, pushing forward only to occasionally claw at Saj, but its talons stopped inches away from him.

Saj meanwhile dropped the flashlight on the exam bed and grabbed the golf club from Zane's loose grip. He swung, not at the thing, but behind him at the wall. Zane was sure that the older boy had gone crazy until he saw the target: an oddly shaped bin labeled 'Medical Waste' and bolted to the wall.

His face twisted with the effort, Saj hit the bin twice more. All the while the creature fluttered madly about. Then the hard plastic finally cracked and out poured a shower of used needles, stained gauze, and soiled latex.

The creature swooped down on the waste, eagerly enveloping it with all its arms.
Saj grabbed the flashlight and shouted to Zane, "Run!"

The two scrambled, not looking back at the creature in the room, at the people trapped forever in the waiting area, or down the hall when they reached the stairway door. They ran down each flight of steps, not slowing until they hurled themselves at the ground floor door, out into the lobby and back into sunshine and the street outside.

"What was that thing?" Zane gasped between breaths.

"A fect." Saj sat down on the sidewalk. "If it touched you, that would be the end." He also panted heavily, but began sorting through the rewards of the day. "Cancer, HIV, bubonic plague. Whatever." He lifted up one paper box of pills, shook it, and was rewarded by a satisfying rattle, then dropped it back in the backpack. "It's the ultimate carrier. Some sorta sickness ghost."

"Shit. I mean, ... shit. And you do this every day?"

To Zane, Saj's responding grin looked wild and thrilling.

Zane followed after Saj, merrily rolling over and over in his head such strange-sounding names as Hyalgan and Enbrel. After they had looked over their loot, he had pleased to try one of the brightly colored pills, but Saj insisted that a doped boy walking through the Fallen streets was not a good thing. Rather than be sullen, Zane consoled himself with the thought of sorting through drugs at home like Halloween candy. And taking a shower to rid himself of the stink of the alcohol. He sniffed his fingertips, wincing at the smell that lingered on his skin.

Back in the apartment building, Saj walked past the elevator and the stairs, headed for the rear of the building. Zane paused by the elevator doors.

"Where are you going?"

"To Nifty's. She's my fence." Saj called over his shoulder. "She buys the stuff I find."

"Oh. She lives in the same building?"

Saj shook his head. "Come on."

Zane found Saj waiting for him around the corner, standing in front of a small door. Shoddy gilded letters on the frosty glass pane read 'Broom Closet.' "Ummm, we're hiding the stuff?"

"Nope." Saj reached for the knob. "This is the way."

"Through a broom closet?"

The older boy opened the door to the tiniest of spaces--enough to hold a bristly broom, a dirty old mop and bucket, and a few brushes hanging from rusty pegs along the wall. Zane almost laughed, but Saj seemed so serious that he felt a little uneasy.

"Nifty's just past all the broom closets in the Fallen." He took a step into the closet, pushing aside the mop. "They have to be old, I mean, really say 'broom closet' and not anything janitorial."

"Wait a sec," Zane said, reaching for Saj's shoulder but his fingers closed over empty air. Saj had, impossibly, moved deeper into the closet. He had passed the brushes and was now behind the broom and still walking. And then he was gone, utterly swallowed up.

Zane reached out and touched the mop handle. The wood felt solid enough. Still, he shuddered. This reminded him of the people trapped back at the doctor's office, stretching belief past sanity. Blood spiders and fiery hair could have a place in this new world for Zane, but to ask him to step through on blind trust was almost too much to bear. He suddenly had the urge to collapse, to sit down on the floor and close his eyes. He needed some serious down-time, a chance to relax, to ease into the madness of the Fallen slowly. But there wasn't time for that.

Days ago, at the gate, as the clerk was destroying his citizenship, Zane had experienced a moment of panic. He almost stopped the man from cutting up his Social Security card, his old identity, scared of where what seemed at the time a whim had brought him. He looked at the others in line to enter the Fallen, an assortment of the physically abused, the emotionally battered, the needy, and the lost, and realized that the normal world offered them as little as it had offered him.

Zane leaned against the doorjamb, readying himself. "Only another gate," he whispered. Saj had kept him alive, and deserved his trust. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and finally began to walk ahead. He expected something, some sensation, but felt nothing, not even the slightest tingle. Just the old tiled floor to meet his feet. After daring a few more steps to be sure, he opened his eyes.

He found himself standing beside Saj in a small shop overloaded with goods that a sudden attack of claustrophobia made it heard to breathe. Each wall had shelves running up to the ceiling, and the door behind him was so slender as to be nearly lost. Everywhere he looked lay odd little things that were out of place. Here a small pile of Scrabble letter tiles; there a doll dressed in a pink satin dress, pristine and perfect down to her glass slippers and pink polished fingers but missing her head. Zane tapped at the plastic silvery tiara balanced on the neck, pushing it over.

"That wasn't so bad," Saj whispered to him. The older boy maneuvered through the piles of stuff towards a small, easily overlooked desk, piled with more junk. "Don't stare at her, ok?"

Zane opened his mouth to ask why, curious over who Saj might be jealous of, when Nifty walked in from some other hidden entrance behind the desk. His stomach rolled at the sight of her face. He quickly averted his eyes. There was no risk of staring; he never wanted to glimpse it again. The lower half of that face dripped down like melted wax, hanging loose and boneless for almost a foot.

"Saj, what have you brought me tonight?"

Her voice turned every word into a lyric that tugged at his insides. Zane had never heard anything more beautiful. It belonged to something else, and it troubled him to know that hideous Nifty was the one who possessed it.

"Pharmaceuticals." Saj glanced over his shoulder at Zane. "I think of some of them are painkillers." He emptied the backpack onto the desk.

"Not the boy too?"

Zane shuddered and hoped she had meant that as a joke.

"Truly a nice haul. Do you wish to sell everything?"

The two boys' eyes met for a moment, Zane's wide and pleading, Saj's half-lowered above a grin. "No, not all the painkillers."

Zane whispered a low "Thanks."

"So what will it be? I have some cash today."

"What's in the box?" Saj asked.

One of Nifty's hands rested on a small metal tin. "I'm not sure, actually. Another forager brought it in, and I could not resist a mystery." She tapped the top with a pale fingernail.

"No key?"

"Combination lock. I'll probably have to have Caleb take care of it; whatever's inside will probably be a disappointment and not worth his fee, but..." She trailed off.

"Who's Caleb?" Zane asked casually, though he didn't really care what the answer was. Standing in front of Nifty and keeping his eyes everywhere but her was becoming burdensome. He wanted Saj to take him back to the apartment, share some pills, touch him again.

Saj spoke without looking back at Zane. "He's an Opener, and trouble. Basically can open up anything, and I mean anything." He pulled a folded scrap of paper from his pocket. Zane glanced over Saj's shoulder to see a short list written in penciled tiny letters. "I'll take a hundred in cash, small bills. Then some batteries. Light bulbs. A couple tins of lighter fluid. Carton of cigarettes--"

"You smoke?" asked Zane. He had tried cigarettes in junior high a few times. They had left his mouth and throat burning as if he'd swallowed acid.

"No, but they're a great trade, so I always stock up." Saj glanced around the room distractedly before focusing again on Zane with a smile. "You need anything?"

Zane wanted to say "an understanding of Inside," but simply shook his head no.

Zane looked over his shoulder to see Saj lagging behind. He began to slow down even though a growing sense of impatience filled him, one that threatened any moment to sour into maybe real anger. Hours ago they had argued in the apartment, coming close to shouting.

The routine he had fallen into with the older boy had worn thin. All Saj ever wanted to do after a day of scrounging was head back to that tiny hole of an apartment and lecture endlessly about whatever dangers they had seen or not seen or maybe might have seen. Then they would spend an hour or so wrapped in each other, with Zane never quite knowing what Saj wanted him to do. Some nights he simply rubbed the older boy's back and kissed him. Then Saj would fall asleep, leaving Zane awake for hours, wondering what was happening on the streets below.

That curiosity had festered within him over the last few days, until he felt trapped. Tonight he had needed out. Before he had run away to the Fallen, all he had ever heard was that is was a cool place. Sure, there was weird shit, but the stories were always amazing and left him wanting more. He had spent too long here avoiding every thrill except the one that Saj offered nightly. Tonight he had begged to go out, and when Saj started to shake his head no, Zane was ready to walk out. He almost did, and Saj must have realized it, because he finally relented.

Along the way, Saj broke the silence between them by talking about clubbing in the Fallen. The raves had the intensity of fireworks, shining but short-lived and over before you were ever satisfied. Most were seedy excuses to drink and dance, to celebrate another day of survival.

Saj caught up to Zane. He tried briefly flashing his familiar grin, and Zane felt instantly guilty at how he had treated the other boy. He almost moved to throw his arms around Saj, hug him tightly and tell him that everything was okay, and suggest that they head back home and fall asleep in each other's arms. But that was fairy tale truth. Even if they did turn around, Zane would regret missing the rave that night, and things would only get worse. Why couldn't Saj understand that?

Zane idly tugged at the orange T-shirt he wore. Saje spoke up. "You look great."

"Stop. You always say that." Blushing slightly, he looked down at himself, at the clothes that Saj had spent days finding for him, ones with designer labels that were a thousand times nicer than the stuff he had worn on the Outside.

When they reached a spot where they could hear the music, one ear catching the beat of techno, the other the notes of house, Zane looked up and saw his desire: down the block, a concrete dream bedecked with strings of white and red lights, three levels promising hours of delight, drink, and dance.

"Tomorrow," Saj said behind him, "it will once more be the remains of a parking garage, or maybe something's lair, or maybe disappear totally. But tonight, here's your club."

"Cool," was all he said as he Saj took him in.

The club had no name--why bother with something permanent when you had only a few transient hours of darkness to wring some pleasure from? The floor trembled from the beat of the music, emphasized by countless footfalls. With the dim lighting, everyone looked young and wild. Where had this crowd emerged from? Zane had never seen many people during his days spent in the Fallen Area, never more than maybe six or seven at any one time. But here was a horde, with swaying hands, bouncing heads, tiny signs of shared ecstasy. He couldn't help but gawk at them.

"I need a drink," muttered Saj, and walked towards the many amateur-looking bars, nothing more than a row of grownup versions of lemonade stands. Zane gazed once more at the crowd, tried to narrow his focus to a single body but failed. Feeling almost giddy, he followed after Saj.

They went to the nearest stand with its pitchers of radiator-green mix, ice bobbing up and down. The cardboard sign, marked with calligraphy in a green marker, read: Rad and bad for only $2 or Trade. A young boy worked the stand, his head shaved, the too-tan scalp marked by a black tattoo that Zane figured was some Chinese letter. He boy poured out the mix into two glasses, one a wine glass with a chipped stem, the other short and uglier than the rest. Saj reached for that one. Zane took the other, noting that there was another weird tattoo on the back of the boy's hand. He let Saj pay for the drinks with four dollar bills.

The mix tasted sickly sweet on the first sip, but the second went down milder and Zane felt an inaugural buzz. He drank the rest quickly, wanting to rush the feeling.

"Let's dance." He tugged at Saj's sleeve.

"I'm not a dancer."

"Please." whined Zane, but Saj shook his head and so Zane handed over his empty glass and eagerly slipped into the crowd, glancing back only once to see Saj walk over to a distant wall.

Let him stand there and mope if he wants, Zane thought. Let him, and me, be alone for a while. He closed his eyes and moved to the many beats: the one coming from the speakers; the pulse rising from the stomping; and, distantly, the rush in his ear from his quickened heart.

When he had lost track of the music and his breathing became heavy, Zane broke apart from the mass. Walking away was almost painful; what might have been hours of dancing had created a link to the sweaty, writhing crowd. But he felt thirsty and sapped; he needed another drink, or maybe to have Saj help him find whatever passed for E around here.

He found the other boy still leaning against the wall, looking grim. He didn't even smile when Zane came near. Why couldn't he just enjoy himself? He looked almost pained, and held onto his right arm as if nursing a sprain. One of Zane's sneakers stepped on something that crackled and he saw by his feet the shattered remains of the wine glass. Next to that a splotch, a familiar red color with the remains of spindly legs sticking out at the edges.

Why the cutting now? Zane fought to keep calm, refusing to get overwrought and ruin his first night out in ages. "You okay?"

Saj nodded once, absently. "Yeah. Sure."

Zane inwardly groaned. Getting Saj involved seemed impossible. "Thirsty? I want to get another drink."

The other boy shook his head as he reached into a pocket for money.

He left Saj and went over to a different stand. A thin and kind of pretty girl stood behind it, with black hair that hung in damp ringlets. Her wrists were lovely, with lots of copper bracelets. She wore a tank top, white with a red crescent in the center, over cargo pants.

She smiled at him. Zane instinctively responded with a grin.

"So what's in this?"

"I made it myself." Her voice almost squeaked. "Take a sip and maybe then I'll tell you all the ingredients." She poured a little bit of murky syrup into a Styrofoam cup. He drank it like a shot, trying to impress her without really knowing why. It tasted a lot like flat cola. He wiped his mouth with his arm and held out the cup for more. "It's good," he lied.

She giggled. He noticed that her breasts danced for him when she laughed. "How do you want to pay?" She quickly took the sign from the pitcher and put it behind her back.

"Umm, what's the price?" He felt his face beginning to redden under her hungry eyes, but he didn't turn away.

"For a full glass?" She cocked her head to the left, as if in thought. "At least a kiss." The tip of a pink tongue darted out for a moment to moisten her lips.

"Pay her with the cash." Saj's words as he arrived were low but both Zane and the girl heard him.

Zane cringed at the coarse tone in the odler boy's voice. "Maybe I'd rather kiss her."

"Rather than me?" Saj put his hand on Zane's arm. A firm grip reminded Zane how much stronger the other boy was.

The sudden and obvious jealousy shocked Zane. "What's your problem?"

"Do you think you're the first boy from Outside I've fallen for?"

Zane tried to shrug himself free, but Saj's grip tightened and kept him. "And I should care because?"

"You're the last. All the others… well, they broke my heart." Saj swallowed to find more words. "So now, I'm asking you not to do the same."

Zane's face grew flushed; the words embarassed him. All this because of some harmless flirting? And with some girl that he didn't even really care about. Or did that make it worse to Saj, a bitter hetero betrayal?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the girl's wide-eyed expression. Her staring at them made his stomach churn. He growled at Saj, "What is wrong with you?"

Saj winced, and his grim expression changed. His mouth trembled. "Please...." He let go of Zane and used the hand to wip at his eyes. "I-I think I love you."

Zane blinked rapidly, surprised. No one had ever told him that. To have this boy say it now almost scared him. "Love? Why are we talking about love?" He quickly reached out and grabbed the pitcher and lifted it to his mouth and took a big gulp. Then, with the stuff dripping down from his lips and chin, he spat out, "I love this drink!" He nearly toppled it while setting it back down on the stand. "I love these tunes!" He turned back to the crowd behind them. "I love all of them!" He jabbed his hands in their direction. Finally he spun back to face Saj. "But don't tell me you love me. Don't you dare ask me to say it back."

Saj stared at him silently for a little while, then nodded once and walked away. Zane watched him leave, his eyes staying with the other boy until he was lost to the farthest reaches of the club. He felt suddenly sick to his stomach and wanted to sit down or, better yet, lie down someplace quiet.

"He looked upset." The drink girl stood next to him, holding a cup full of that stuff. She leaned up against Zane, bringing a hand up to twist around his arm. Her body smelled of perspiration and the flat cola drink. "Do I still get my kiss?"

He shook his head no, still looking off in the direction Saj had left. He just wanted to drift off himself for a while. But a hand pulled at his chin, turning his head so that her mouth could envelop his. At first he just stood there, passive, parting his mouth only so it could be over soon. Her tongue slipped over his teeth, cautiously sliding back and forth, skimming over his own. Then it all turned wrong. Hands gripped the back of his head, pressing their mouths together almost painfully. She moved around faster in his mouth, whipping at the insides of his cheeks, as if she had somehow added a few more tongues to push the kiss over the edge. He winced, tried to push her off him, but she held tight.

His nose struggled to draw in air to breath, and he began to gag as a coppery taste swirled into his mouth and down his throat. He realized he had begun hitting her, his arms flailing, hands turned to tight fists as they fell again and again on her back and sides. But she ignored the protest, and after a few more moments still locked together, he felt himself weakening. Zane could swear his conscience whispered, "Stop fighting, stop resisting, let her have your mouth." He finally closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, he had fallen to the floor, landing on his side, feeling the impact on his shoulder and hip. He looked up and saw her smiling, looking pleased.

"Thanks, was tasty." The tip of her pink tongue began to lick her bottom lip. Then another tongue slid out and moved over the top, leaving it glistening.

He gasped for breath and began crawling away from her. Someone rushing up to her booth stepped on his hand. He cried out weakly. She ignored him after that, going back to the stand, pouring out drinks, flirting with others. He reached the wall, managed to sit up. He threw his head back, purposely smacking his head against the wall. The pain felt welcome, wanted, deserved.

He felt like a total shit for treating Saj like that. No denying it. Why did that other boy even like him? His thoughts wouldn't settle down and his gut ached fiercely. When was the last time they had kissed? This morning? Last night? He suddenly needed to remember, but couldn't be sure. Zane strained to stand up, using the wall as support. He glared at the bitch serving her drinks, and then headed towards the door. He stumbled as he walked, suffering all the elements that moments ago had seemed so amazing. The dim lighting made each step hesitant, unsure. The music disoriented, it almost sounded like voices calling out, telling him to move this way, turn that way.

As he passed the crowd, they pulled at him, tugging and ripping his shirt, pinching and scratching at his arms and neck. He wanted to snap at all of them, but didn't have the strength. He could barely push open the door to the outside. He would go back to the apartment and apologize. Hell, he'd probably be on his knees, he felt so bad--that couldn't just be from what the girl had done to him.

He walked a bit, and then had to rest on the sidewalk, his head down between his legs to fight off lightheadedness. When he felt better, he looked around and realized he didn't recognize anything around him. Somehow he must have stumbled off in the wrong direction. He doubled back until he saw the parking garage and tried a route that looked somewhat familiar. He should have paid more attention to the way they'd come.

Pale blue had crept into the edge of the dark sky by the time he found his way back to the apartment building. The edges of every sense felt dulled, his reaction time slowed until he might as well have been asleep.

He tried the door a moment before thinking Saj would have locked it; when it opened, he stood there, unsure of what that could possibly mean. The apartment was dark. He trudged in, closing the door behind him as an afterthought.

He went to the bedroom, briefly considering stripping off his clothes and taking a shower, but every muscle screamed exhaustion. And he still had to deal with Saj.

A noise stopped him at the edge of the mattress. Something scurrying or rustling. He sank to his knees and moved onto the bed. Tiny legs scuttling over his arm sent him into a fit of shivers, and he cursed and shook off whatever crawled on him. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness and he could just make out Saj laying inches away, covered with a blanket.

Zane had closed his eyes to drift off when his entire right arm, the one stretched out closest to Saj, began to itch. The prickling soon becoming painful. He yelled and saw things crawling over his skin. He rolled off the mattress, slapping at his arm, knocking the things off.

When he stood up, the end of the chain to the overhead bulb brushed his face. He whacked at it wildly before realizing what it was. A tug on the chain and the room filled with yellow light.

What he saw made him scream. No blanket covered the other boy. Zane could barely make out Saj's shape underneath the strands of wet red silk. Spiders, countless spiders, with bloated bodies carried about on many legs, crawled over the wrappings and the mattress. Not far away lay a large knife, the sort you would cut a steak with, with strands of silk along the serrated edge.

Fuck! he thought. He staggered back, his back hitting the wall behind him. Saj's dead. Fuck, he's dead. He looked down at the knife, at the cheap wood handle, probably something the boy had scrounged up. Zane swept out with an arm and knocked the crap atop the nearby dress off onto the floor, but that wasn't enough, so he punched at the wall, cracking the cheap plaster and tearing the skin off his knuckles.

At the sound, the cocoon twitched. Zane stared at it. Now he could see no movement; he wondered if his guilty conscience had tricked his tearing eyes into seeing what he so desperately wanted. He had to know. He took a few steps closer, onto the mattress, carefully placing his feet to avoid the spiders. One of the awful things had perched itself atop where Zane imagined Saj's head lay. When he leaned forward, it brought up its front legs, waving the barbed tips in challenge. Beneath the spider, the cocoon slowly swelled, just an inch--maybe a breath, or a tremble.

"Saj, can you hear me?" he yelled. The spider moved an inch to the right, then back, sidestepping like a crab. The cocoon twitched again. Was that another breath? Had Saj heard him?

Zane slapped at a spider that came near. He went back for the knife. Down at the other end, towards Saj's feet he hoped, he began to cut. He pressed the blade lightly against the crimson silk, nervous about the risk of cutting into the boy underneath. A spider came near and he swiped the blade towards it, but it ran away along the length of Saj's wrapped body. Sweat dripped into his eyes, burning his sight, and he realized that the knife slid over the silk without biting through the strands. He pressed harder, and harder still, but nothing. He cursed and ran his own hand along the edge, and cursed louder as it sliced the soft flesh of his palm. His own blood began to drip normally.

Frustration rose like bile in him, and he ran a hand through damp hair. He raised the knife to throw it across the room in angry despair, when an idea struck him. He brought the knife up and started slicing off thick handfuls of his hair. The cutting was easier than he expected. He took the locks into his hand and blew them over where Saj lay. They flew off on the puff of air, remaining whole and unchanged, landing on the silk wrappings like an orange garnish. He wordlessly cried out, tried again, but still nothing wondrous happened. There was nothing unusual about him, nothing special that could save Saj.

He needed help. Someone close by. He dashed out the room, through the doors, to the elevator, stabbing the button. It would not come fast enough. He took the steps at a run, leaping down them three at a time. At the ground floor he headed for the broom closet.

Zane stood in front of Nifty's desk, keeping his eyes low. "Tell me how to find that Opener you talked about."

"Why do you want him?" She nearly sang the question, the last syllable raising in pitch with surprise.

At least she hadn't asked about the state of his hair. "Saj's in trouble. All my fault and I need help." He stared down at the floorboards.

"Poor Saj." Real sympathy deepened her voice. He heard her rummage through the papers on the desk. After a moment or two Zane dared to lift his head a little. Her hands were writing a number down on the back of an empty matchbook. He was momentarily distracted by the old gold wedding ring she wore. "Here's Caleb's number." She held out the matchbook, but then swiftly pulled it back, out of reach. "He's more mercenary than any, but he's also the best."

Zane didn't understand what she meant. When he reached for the matchbook again she let him have it. He eyed the number. Only five digits, with an asterisk between the 6 and the 8. "Is this right?"

But Nifty had gone, leaving behind only some wet spots on her papers.

He knew Saj didn't have a phone, and he didn't dare see if the rest of the apartments in the building were occupied, or if whatever occupied them would let him make a call. So he went out on the street, down to the corner, looking around in every direction.

An old man walked with a much younger woman across the street. Zane went over to them to ask where there might be a nearby phone, but stopped at the last moment. He stumbled back a step when he saw her unsteady walk, each limb moving with stiff jerks. Both faces--one gnarled and leathery, in desperate need of a shave, the other utterly smooth and expressionless with perfect cupid-bow lips--turned to look at Zane. The woman was a department store mannequin. The couple stared at him as he ran off.

He finally found a phone. It was in pristine condition, the metal shining as if just polished. There even was a dial tone. Still, he doubted the number would work. Nothing ever worked right, nothing was normal here. He started stabbing the buttons and realized tears were still running down his cheeks.

When he had dialed the last number there was no ring; the line went dead. He hung up and tried again, making sure to add the damn asterisk that he skipped dialing before. The line came alive and rang twice. He heard someone pick up, but they remained silent.

"Hello? Hello?"

The soft voice of a woman on the line answered. "I don't think I know your voice."

The Opener's name suddenly disappeared from his mind, and a moment of panic set in, making it hard to breath or curse. Zane shut his eyes tightly to think. Caleb. That was it. "Is Caleb there? Please, I need to speak with him now."

"I'm his service. Do you want to hire him or is this a personal matter?"

Thoughts raced in Zane' head. What to say? While he did want to hire him, suppose he couldn't come right away. This was a fucking emergency and didn't you always give anything personal priority? "Personal. It's personal."

"Alright. Your name, please. And give me your exact location."

He looked around. Nothing was familiar. He felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He had gotten himself lost trying to find the phone. Why weren't there any damn street signs? "I don't know where I am."

A gentle sigh on the other end. "Calm down and describe something to me."

But the buildings all had that same telltale Fallen look: a slow but steady state of disrepair and decay. Menacing alleyways, choked with debris. The street empty--not even that weird old man and his freaky plastic date were still out there.

Then his eyes caught sight of the boarded-up subway entrance. "Hold on." He let the phone slip from his hand, and ran towards the entrance. Graffiti covered most of the lettering--he was unnerved to see the word Moil spraypainted again and stayed well away from the stairs leading down--but he could make out a street name and number. He dashed back to the phone.

It took only seconds to pick up the receiver and bring it back to his ear and mouth, but the worry that the woman on the other end had hung up tore at his strained nerves.

"Good. I will let Caleb know." The sound of her voice calmed him. Then the line went dead. He didn't know if she had hung up or had been lost. He flashed the hook, heard some clicks, but nothing more.

He sank to the pavement, on his knees. He would wait. Just a little while. Then he'd call again. And again, until Caleb came to him to help.

"I don't know you." The voice from behind him startled Zane. "I'm not used to searching the Fallen for someone I've never met before." Annoyance could be heard in the words.

Zane almost didn't believe the young man standing there could be the hard-to-reach and troublesome Caleb. He was far too young, and looked almost sickly, with pale skin stark against the ebony turtleneck sweater and gray jeans. The thin face had never been touched with a razor, the feminine lips were a touch darker than the eyes.

"Say something."

Zane climbed to his feet. "I'm sorry, but I needed you now. It's an emergency--"

Caleb smirked. "Why is it always an emergency."

"But my friend's dying. You have to help him." Zane was aware that he was crying again. "Please."

"So how are you going to pay me?" Caleb reached out and threaded his fingers through the boy's hair. Zane shivered at the touch, at hot it gently tugged at the surviving locks and then ran over the bare patches of scalp.

"Anything you want." Zane moved his head so that Caleb's touch become more of a stroking gesture.

The Opener laughed in surprised delight. "Really? Should you be offering something you'll regret later on? I'm not the sort that's satisfied with something once." Caleb's fingers slid down the side of Zane's face.

Zane swallowed his first words, unsure of what to say. He wanted, no he needed, to save Saj, but to do so would he have to abandon Saj for Caleb? He choked down a fresh sob. He missed Saj terribly, wished the older boy were there to hold him and tell him the right thing to do. But he was on his own for the moment, and the decision was never in doubt. He moved forward until they were inches apart and brought his fingers up to Caleb;s mouth. Dark lipstick smeared on his fingertips. "Yes."

Caleb grinned around the boy's fingers. "Then tell me everything that happened."

Zane spoke quickly; rushed to say everything before his nerve failed. Caleb stood and listened, not saying a word, staring at Zane. When finally the boy began to repeat himself, worrying over whether they would rach Saj in time, the Opener spoke.

"Don't worry." He put his hand on Zane's shoulder and lightly pushed him forward, towards the closest building. "This will be quick." He took hold of the handle and opened the door...

... and they walked through into the bedroom. Zane looked behind him and saw the open apartment door. There were fewer spiders crawling about the mattress and over the wrapped Saj, but they looked twice as swollen as they had earlier.
Caleb kicked at the nearest spider headed for his black sneakers. "Shit." All the spiders' bodies split with an audible crack, leaving every one a twitching, oozing mess. Caleb leaned over to his right and threw up a little on the floorboards. "Ugh, that was nasty."

"Come on, get him out."

Caleb laid his hands, fingers spread wide, over the wrappings. He closed his eyes, as if to concentrate. A seam appeared at the head of the cocoon. It widened, and split the cocoon lengthwise.

Together they reached inside the cocoon, feeling the heat from Saj's body. His bare skin was slick with sweat and his frame looked gaunt, as if the spiders had drained him, turning his muscular form into something too thin. His chest rose and fell, though. His mouth was still clenched shut, his face rigid with pain.

Zane bent down and wiped clear the muck from Saj's face, working fast but tenderly. The older boy had still not opened his eyes or mouth, still looked half-dead. Zane worked his fingers around Saj's lips and jaw, prying open the mouth. Slender strands of crimson silk had anchored themselves to the teeth and out crawled another spider. Zane bit his lip to keep from crying out, and reached down to grasp the spider in his hand. As he squeezed it, crushing it, he felt its sharp pinprick bites. Then it stopped, a wet mess in his hand.

Saj coughed then, and Zane put his mouth over the other's boy and emptied his entire breath into him. Saj opened his eyes, looking around blearily.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" Zane started crying again, but he didn't care.

Saj weakly lifted a hand up, his fingers brushing one of the tears falling down the younger boy's face. He opened his mouth to speak but then ended up grinning instead, which quickly turned into a mix of cough and laughter.

"Touching." Zane couldn't tell if Caleb was speaking sarcastically or not. "Now let's get out of her." Caleb went to lift Saj up, but Zane pushed him aside and gently helped the older boy to stand. He followed the Opener through the door again but they emerged on a different street.

"Down the block there's a shelter. Take him there." Caleb took hold of Zane's chin. "Don't worry, I'll be stopping by soon to collect my fee."

Before Zane could say anything, Saj groaned lightly. Zane adjusted the boy to bear more of his weight over his shoulder. When he glanced up, the Opener was gone.

"Tell me you won't do that again," he muttered, unsure of whether Saj could even hear him.

In his ear, softly, he heard, "Tell me what I need and I won't."

Zane held onto Saj tightly as they walked to the end of the block. Zane's lips brushed the older boy's damp cheek as he answered "I love you." With every step, Zane repeated the words, feeling Saj's warmth spread through him.

 

Reprinted from Trysts: A Triskaidecollection of Queer and Weird Stories

©2001 Steve Berman - Contributor's Bio

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