The aftermath to the Mud Nest. While it is presumptuous to try to add to the great writing and stories on Route 66, they move me to envision what may have come next.

Note: To the best of my knowledge and belief, this story is fair use of copyrighted material, as there is no commercial use and no loss of potential market or value of the original material will occur.

I Will Give You Rest

He focused his attention on the sound of his steps. It was a way to push aside the toll taken by the last several days, and what might have been his first conversation with his mother. The experience nearly overwhelmed him at times. His entire life had moved in a certain direction because his mother-or someone- had abandoned him as an infant on the doorsteps of an orphanage in one of the toughest neighborhoods in New York. He had yearned for a family, a parent who cared about his own dreams and feelings, for as long as he could remember. The prospect of finally knowing how it all happened, and why he was left behind shook him to his core, even as he had to know. The path from a chance encounter with a clan who resembled him so much had led him here, looking for a woman of the clan, Dorothea Colby.

Buz noted the slight scuffling sound his shoes made as he climbed the steps out of the operating theatre, and into the corridor. There his steps were more clear, the quiet sound of the heels of his shoes being muffled by movements of other people, the rolling of carts, and the swinging of doors.

Tod was waiting for him in the massive lobby. Buz watched him rise and walk toward him, his expression concerned and searching Buz's face for clues to what happened, with maybe some guilt thrown in for initiating this search in the first place. Tod looked more somber as they approached each other, knowing that it had not gone well.

"It's not her. The baby died. Let's go."

They headed for the exit, but Buz turned back for a moment, looking at the statue of Jesus again and reading its inscription. It could have been written just for him, and was what he needed.

Come Unto Me

All Ye That Are Weary and Heavy Laden

And I Will Give You Rest.

He absorbed the words again, and turned back toward the exit, where Tod stood, quiet and attentive, to hold the door for him.

Tod struggled with what to say, or to whether to say anything at all. He clenched his hands on the steering wheels of the Corvette, wondering if his presence or words would be a comfort or intrusion. Buz said nothing else on the drive, rubbing his hands over his eyes, and exhaling a couple of deep breaths.

Tod drove them to their boarding house. Regardless of today's outcome, Baltimore seemed like a worthy stop on their travels. It had an industrial area and bustling port which would offer them some work. The boarding house was like many they had stayed in: a smallish room with two single beds separated by a nightstand; dresser, closet, and shared bathroom down the hall.

"I'll get us something to eat." Tod would take his time, and give Buz some privacy to come to grips with what had happened. He paused, and his voice came out a bit hoarse and choked. "Any time you want to talk…."

"Yeah." Buz was quiet and strained. He needed time for this.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Tod left for the food, but more to give Buz some privacy. He was exhausted. He managed to remove his jacket, untuck his shirt, and pull down the bed covers, before finally giving in the weariness and falling asleep.

The dream came to him again, but part of it was different. He saw his mother in the garden, but now she wore the face of Dorothea Colby-Joan Thompson as she now was. The plane still circled above before it started to crash toward them. Mama, look out, it's headed for you.

Joan looked up at it, smiled at him, and answered. I want it to crash. I want it to crash so I can never see you, or think about you again. I want you to die. Stand still, so the plane will hit and you will die, and I will never have to see or think of you again. Then the plane hit and he was burning to the ground amid a cloud of ashes. Only Joan was rising from them, laughing and smiling.

He jerked upright, gasping, to hear the last sound of his own shouting. When he regained enough of his senses he realized that Tod was sitting on the bed with him, gripping his shoulders. Buz's shirt was drenched, and he could feel it soaked through to the bed sheets.

"It was a dream," Tod said. "Whatever it was, it's over."

Buz was still breathing hard, looking slowly around the room, absorbing its reality over the nightmare. He shrugged off Tod's hands and started to stand, but he moved too quickly and his legs started to buckle. Tod grabbed hold of him again and pinned him down to sit on the bed.

"See, that's what happens when you barely eat and don't sleep for a couple of days." Tod tried for a light tone, but he was plainly shaken himself.

Buz let his gaze shift again, and he paused looking at the window. The sun was starting to set, and blazed blood red through the clouds, save for a tip of orange-gold light in one of the upper corners.

"The sky is red today," he said. He had seen such a sky another time, when, loaded with despair, and totally alone, he had gone to the roof of his tenement. He had wondered if the red sky meant God was crying for him, and that while he was lonely, he wasn't really alone. Maybe He was crying for him again.

I will give you rest.

"The sky is red, like before."

Tod glanced at the window, and back at Buz. He seemed transfixed by the sight. His eyes, which had been wild and panicked, were growing calmer. His breathing, which had been rapid and shallow, was slowing and deepening. The tension in his shoulders under Tod's hands was easing as his body began to relax. Whatever Buz was seeing in the color of the sky, whatever meaning or memory it triggered, it was clearly comforting.

"Sure. Sure it is. It's as red as I've ever seen it."

Buz's eyes flicked from the window to Tod's face. In trying to be reassuring, Tod had a slightly awkward smile and sounded a bit uncertain. The light streaming from the window seemed to form a halo around his head.

Is this a guardian angel for me? Really? You load them up with freckles? The corner of Buz's mouth twitched at the thought, and Tod's smile in response was relieved and genuine, and he took his hands off Buz's shoulders.

"Yeah, it's-uh- really red." He sounded a bit goofy this time.

Some guardian angel You sent for me. He doesn't have a clue about what his being here means to me, how much it helps. Not a clue.

He took notice of himself. The shirt and sheets were starting to dry, but the smell of his sweat still lingered. He was pretty rank. He glanced back at the window again, and saw the orange gold color in the corner was starting to spread. He stood up slowly, and Tod was immediately on his feet close to him, with a hand ready to take his elbow and catch him if necessary.

"Guess I better take a shower." He moved steadily enough to take a towel from the dresser, and Tod, watching him closely at first, let him go without comment.

Buz took his time in the shower, lingering long after the washing. He let the water cascade over and over him, baptizing him, and offered himself for acceptance.

He returned to see that Tod had found some fresh linens and changed the sheets. Buz's pajamas sat neatly folded on the corner of the bed. He put his clothes in the laundry bag and reached for his pajamas. He was tired, but the strain and weariness had been replaced by a peaceful drowsiness. "I think I can sleep now."

"Well, you need it. There's still some food though, if you want it."

"Maybe later." He was speaking though some yawns and pulled the sheets and blanket over himself. Tod moved to the window and started to close the blinds.

"Don't," Buz said sharply. "I want to watch the light." It was still streaming through the window, the blinds forming shadow lines on Buz's face. The orange gold was crowding out the deep red, seeing it away until, another day, it would be needed again.

"Sure." Tod moved back to sit on his own bed. "Well, good night then."

"It isn't night yet." Buz was already half asleep, and beginning to mumble.

"I stand corrected."

"Tomorrow. S'better tomorrow." He was barely awake now.

I will give you rest.