Chapter 1

The man behind him grunted and panted and Jack closed his eyes as the other man's prick pushed into his ass before Jack was prepared for it.

For a split second an image appeared in front of his eyes. The tent fly shimmering brownish in the dying light of the campfire, flapping lightly in the cold night wind of Wyoming, the ratty bedroll to which his cold hands clutched fearfully and yet eagerly and full of expectations, as Ennis took him.

As unexpected, as painful, and yet….

It had been Ennis who took his virginity, twenty years ago. The blonde taciturn cowboy with whom he herded sheep up on Brokeback Mountain.

A long time had passed. They had gotten old, nearly forty both of them, their lives run out. There was no future for them, Jack had understood this much after their last time together, and since then nothing was the way it seemed any longer.

He drank like a fish, passed days and nights in delirium, went to work – sometimes without knowing how to get through the day, and when he came home at night he couldn't remember what he had been doing all day long.

Today L.D. Newsome had kicked him out. For good. After 15 years he had finally made good on his threats, thrust a paycheck with a hefty settlement in his hand with a fervent wish: "Have a nice life, but have it somewhere else, you worthless sonavabitch."

Jack Twist took the check and the termination papers, and not until he was home did he see among the pile of papers the divorce documents hidden there. After half a bottle of whiskey he decided to sign those, too, and to pay a ransom for his life and obligations once and for all.

He grabbed his belongings, wrote a letter to Bobby, put it on his pillow together with the first belt buckle he ever won, took his son's baseball shirt in return, made a quick phone call and finally left the house in Texas where he had never been happy.

And now here he was, fifty miles away from Childress, at the cabin where they used to meet frequently for fishing, and he sensed the man behind him slowly but surely approaching his climax. Impassively, Jack let himself be fucked, one last time, before finally turning his back to the town and the state, and throwing himself into a future more uncertain than past and present had ever been.

A short moan, a squelching sound, and the man behind him had accomplished his mission. Relieved, Jack slumped on the worn-out mattress and buried his face in the musty pillow. During all this he hadn't even managed to get a hard-on, and he asked himself why the fuck he even had wanted to see him once more. Nostalgic feelings didn't suit him too well.

He heard the snapping of a lighter, but it lacked any romance, any adventure. It sounded hollow and cheap. He sighed in frustration.

"Watsup?" the man behind him asked and caressed his back awkwardly. Jack felt himself tense up under the touch. It disgusted him. HE disgusted him.

"Nothin'" he mumbled and turned away.

"You staying overnight?"

"Nope."

"Does Lureen know …?"

"Fuck no, whadda ya think? What kinda question is this, man? Not to mention that I signed the divorce papers today."

"Oh. And now?"

"Whut now? Whadaya think? I'm out a here."

"Where ya goin'? To your folks?"

"No idea. Away for a beginnin'."

"We gonna see each other again?"

"Guess not."

And Jack hated himself for how easily the words fell from his mouth. He knew the damage they could do. They had haunted him for twenty years, and here he was, pronouncing them himself. In a cold and merciless way. Destroying a life as his had been destroyed, and he asked himself what Ennis might have felt then.

He sat up with difficulty. He felt older than he was, dressed with slow movements without deigning to look at the man behind him, took his bag and tossed the second key onto the now empty and cold half of the bed.

"Bye, man. You'll hear from me," he mumbled and turned around to leave.

"Jack….. Jack, wait," the man called behind him, and the pleading sound of his voice gave him goosepimples. He turned halfway and threw a quick glance to the naked figure on the bed.

"Take care a yerself," the one left behind said hesitantly, and for a split second Jack felt regret flaring up.

"You too," he answered quietly, and with a firm click the door locked behind him.

Randall Malone watched through the cloudy window glass as Jack Twist disappeared out of his life and he knew he would never see him again.

Jack got into his pick-up. Brand new model. Fucking expensive, but L. D. wanted his employees to make a good impression when they were looking for customers, so all sales people drove a phat car. Main thing was to keep up the appearance.

Jack laughed bitterly as he turned the key in the lock and the engine started to purr. L.D. hadn't asked about the truck – and now it was too late. Too late.

With fierce enjoyment he pushed the accelerator as far as it would go and spun his wheels as he pulled away. Little pebbles rattled against the underbody and gave Jack this last adrenaline kick.

With the engine roaring he whipped the truck along deserted country roads, drove like a madman into narrow curves and tortured the engine with ruthless joy to the limit of its performance.

The truck was his now. And only his.

"Trailers for sale or rent
Rooms to let...fifty cents.
No phone, no pool, no pets
I ain't got no cigarettes
Ah, but..two hours of pushin' broom
Buys an eight by twelve four-bit room
I'm a man of means by no means
King of the road."

He laughed wildly. "Fuck you, L.D." he roared and opened the window on the driver's side. Cold evening breeze cooled his cheeks.

This was insanity, this all was madness.

He felt around in his glove box for the flask, opened the bottle top with his teeth and spit it carelessly on the floor. He wouldn't need it anymore.

The entire contents slid down like oil, burned his stomach and left a warm feeling. The only warm and fuzzy spot in his body. A slight glow left over from better times.

Times when he didn't drink alone but shared the bottle at the campfire with the man who had stirred him to life a long time ago and who had sent him back to his personal hell not so long ago.

"Fuck you, Ennis", he mumbled, all of a sudden sober despite his foggy senses, and a glazed wall of unshed tears took away his vision for a short time.

And this was enough to give a hand to fate.

There was an ear-shattering bang as the chrome-shiny truck drove at full speed over a pointed piece of rock on the road. The tiny moment of alcoholic disorientation was enough to send the truck into a skid and off the track.

At the last moment and in a second of total self-control Jack wrestled with the steering wheel and so avoided the worst. The brand new truck scraped squealing and shrieking along the guardrail for several hundred yards before it came to a stop.

Not a sound was to be heard over the scenery.

"Fucking shit," Jack muttered, and with shaky legs he climbed out of the damaged truck. "Shit, shit, fucking shit," he cursed loudly, walking around the truck and following with his eyes the scraped off paint along the guardrail. For yards.

Pokily, as if in slow motion, he turned his head to look at L.D.'s pride and joy. The right side of the truck was scratched and torn open like a flesh wound before him, and for a short moment he was seized by self pity.

Not even for 24 hours had he been the owner of a brand new and untouched truck – could call himself owner and feast upon L.D.'s negligence.

Not even one entire day had to go by without the shadow of the loathsome man gaining on him.

"You goddamn asshole!" he roared into the emptiness – suddenly frustrated to the core – asking himself for a tiny moment whom he had meant to address.

With trudging steps he moved towards the toolbox and took out the tire iron. The left front tire was flat. He had to change it before he could continue his trip to nowhere.

Mumbling silently and quarrelling with his fate, he unscrewed the big heavy lug nuts. The urge for a full-flavored sip of whiskey grew stronger and stronger. Sweat ran down his forehead in little rivulets and clouded his sight again.

The twilight had descended when Jack finally had unscrewed all the nuts and started to pull and tug on the heavy tire with his remaining force. But it didn't move an inch. No matter how hard he tried, the tire was stuck in place.

Frustrated and breathless he collapsed onto the grass and closed his eyes. Evening mist descended upon the deserted back roads all over Texas and the cool dampness soaked his clothes.

He must have fallen asleep, because in his thoughts he suddenly saw Ennis laughing quietly. "Jack fuckin' Twist", and his gentle face with the tender brown eyes that Jack loved so much was looking at him, and the more Jack stared at it the more it changed and became bigger and got flabby cheeks and he heard L.D.'s voice: "You fucked-up rodeo cowboy, you were never no good." And his taunting laughter roused him from his sleep.

He sat up, groaning, becoming vaguely aware of the oncoming headache that started to spread slowly but steadily between his eyes. With stiff legs Jack got up and took the tire iron again, tapped on the metal, giving the nuts a slight jolt.

Nothing. Nothing at all happened.

And like a bolt of lightning lights up the night sky, so an uncontrollable sudden fit of rage flashed through Jack's body and replaced the quiet frustration with a fierce howling that cut the silence of the night.

Wielding the tire iron, he took a big swing and let it fly into the half-flat tire with the strength of the desperate.

Jack didn't hear the hiss that followed. The force of the blowback hit him unprepared and vaulted him in a wide arc onto the dewy and sweet-smelling grass.

Brown earth turned red, as his head hit on a flat rock, knocking him unconscious.

And his last thought was that life could sometimes assume ironic features. The bitter laugh deep down in his throat couldn't find its way out any more.

Darkness surrounded him and embraced him in deep peace, as the lights of a truck cut the dark in the distance.