Chapter Seven

Sam had no intention of letting Arthur Stuart die. He headed back over to the Herald, ready to confront Arthur again, figure out how to fix this permanently. But when he got there, he found that Arthur wasn't.

"He's got a big story," the man he asked said with a grin. "Went home."

"Where?" Sam asked urgently, glancing at the clock above the man's head. He had nine hours.

The man gave him a strange look. "Are you a friend of his?"

"Yeah," Sam replied.

"Then why don't you know where he lives?"

"Look, its really important that I talk to him. It's about his story."

The man shrugged. "He lives over on Broome. Small studio near that old theater."

"Thanks," Sam said and turned away. He started out the door when Al appeared next to him.

"Sam, we got a problem. Good news is, we have more time. Bad news… According to Ziggy, there's a seventy-two percent chance that Curt will be killed along with Arthur tomorrow morning."

"That's new," Sam muttered, stepping into the elevator.

"Well, originally, Curt and Arthur weren't in touch. But now, not only have you made contact, you've royally pissed of Tommy Stone. But there's a ninety-three percent chance that if Arthur prints this article he's working on, he'll live. So you've just got to keep him alive until Sunday morning."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Sam asked, as the elevator doors opened. Two women stood there, puzzled looks on their faces. Sam forced a tight smile and pushed past them.

"That's up to you, Sam." Al grinned wickedly. "But I know what Curt would do."

Sam groaned. "Al…"

Al raised his hands in surrender. "Joking, joking. Just keep him safe." He stepped back into the chamber and disappeared.

Sam rolled his eyes as his holographic friend left. "Easy for you to say."

*

Arthur was sitting at his desk, editing the first draft of his story. He rolled his eyes, angrily jabbing his eraser at Curt Wild's name. He'd mentioned him four times in the first three paragraphs of the article; the first time it had been to reveal him as Tommy's former lover, the second to quote him, and the third and fourth pure tangents that a word or song had set him off into. *Oh, no,* Arthur thought, tapping his pencil to the rhythm of TV Eye, which was playing quietly on his stereo, *I don't have a fixation of any kind…*

Finally it was too much; he spun in his chair and got to his feet, stretching cramped muscles. He made his way to the tiny kitchenette, riffling through the mini-fridge. He pulled out a peach and bit into it absently, eyes searching his studio apartment. He'd lived there since his move to America nearly eight years before and it was nearly as empty as it had been then. He'd come to New York to start over… but somewhere along the line, he forgotten to begin the process.

Arthur tossed the remainder of the peach in the garbage and headed over to the stereo. Gimme Danger had come on, and Arthur didn't need to be reminded of *that* night, not when he was trying so hard to ignore Curt at the moment.

Meeting Curt at that bar on Friday night had given him more regrets than hopes. But Curt's sudden reappearance to warn him about some absurd plot to kill him had confused him, angered him- and hurt him, if he was going to be truthful. The man was his idol, his obsession- and again to be honest, his love since that night in '75. And he'd come bursting into his office, claiming he was going to be murdered. What was next, alien abductions, time travelers?

Arthur scoffed and collapsed into the chair again. He wasn't going to think about Curt Wild anymore. He wasn't going to picture Curt Wild that night on the rooftop, looking at him with amused fondness; he wasn't going to remember the caring in his eyes when he offered him the pin, nor the hesitancy in his gaze when he said he would see him around.

He groaned with frustration and focused his eyes on the binder paper. "Alright, Arthur," he muttered, "get some bloody work done."

A knock sounded at the door just as his eraser came down on a sentence about Curt's stormy eyes. Arthur threw down the pencil and walked over to it, throwing it open carelessly. What he saw there surprised him, thrilled him and made him want to yell, all at the same time.

"Curt," he said to the man, and moved to let him in.