Billy stood in the shadows, watching the group of youths and their dog. He was there, the broad shouldered one who said he would help. He listened as the girl with the bobbed hair recounted the history of Salem . She even mentioned Sarah, Winnifred and Mary. "But who is our Zombie friend?" The tall blonde boy asked. "I'm sorry, Fred. There was nothing about a zombie in the Library." "Darn it,"Fred said, "and I didn't see anything here last night either." If Billy's leather heart still beat, it would have shuddered at the sound of Fred lying to his friends. Why would he hide the events of last night from them? "Hey gang, I'll meet you back at the motel," Fred said, "I'm still a little hopped up from all that cherry cola." "Like, are you going to be okay here all by yourself?" Asked the skinny boy. "Sure Shag, I'll see you in an hour or so." Billy watched the three kids and the dog disappear towards the parking lot, and then Fred went and stood by Billy's grave again. "Are you there friend? I brought my pocket knife." Billy hesitated and then stepped out from behind the tree. "Mm?" The youth smiled. "Gosh I sure am glad you came back." Billy felt the absence of his heart again. Fred was walking closer and closer - too fast. Billy stepped back. Fred froze. "You okay, pal? I know that lady scared you the other night but it's just going to be us now." Billy took a breath. He could still operate his lungs the way he did his hands and feet, and a breath served the purpose of steadying him. Fred drew the knife from his pocket. "You still want me to cut those stitches for you?" "Mm," said Billy. "Uh, that a yes?" Billy nodded. "Okay, I, I'll just have a look here." Fred came close again. If it had been daytime Billy would have seen the colour of his eyes as he examined the bonds holding Billy's mouth closed. Billy was content to observe the shape of Fred sketched in shadow, like an artist's study in charcoal. This close he felt the rhythms of Fred's life force. The percussion of his heart, the music of his breath. "Will you take a seat?" Fred gestured towards a park bench. When Billy was seated Fred directed his face towards the moonlight and then knelt in front of him. Billy felt the cold steel of the knife brush his lips and then a tug of resistance as the first stitch gave way. He was eager for Fred to continue, but something caught his attention. The music had changed. Fred had stopped breathing. Billy caught his hand before he cut the second stitch. "Everything okay?" Freddy took a deep breath and made a sweeping gesture with his hand, towards his chest on the inhale and away on the exhale. He repeated it, in and out. "Oh, was I holding my breath there?" Fred asked. Billy nodded. "Okay, I'll remember that." His eyes returned to Billy's mouth and he felt the second tug of a stitch being cut. Fred put a hand on Billy's shoulder, his thumb snug against his neck. He took another breath and cut the third, and fourth. "Hey, now how does that feel?" Billy opened his mouth. It moved with the same kind of halting motion as the rest of his limbs. His teeth no longer pained him the way they had started to in life. His throat was dry and his voice… well there was one way to find out about that. "I thank you friend." Fred looked shocked. As if Billy was a horse that had suddenly gained the ability to speak. He moved to step away but Billy caught his hand again. "I haven't said a word in over three hundred years." Fred chuckled the way some people do when they aren't sure what to say. "Say, want me to get that yarn for you?" Billy put his hand to his mouth and felt the frayed edges of the stitches. "Yes I would like that." And then he felt Fred's fingertips brush his lips again, and the sensation of something old and unwelcome being drawn away from his face to be cast forgotten at his feet. To be turned into bird's nests or slowly covered by loam. Fred's face drew closer as he removed another and another. Finally he ran a large thumb over Billy's unbound lips and then brushed them with his own. The trace of dark cherry lingered as Fred drew back. "Oh heck, I'm sorry. That - that just felt like the thing to do." "A healer's kiss. I would repay it with a kiss of gratitude," he waited to see if Fred would say anything, but instead the youth placed Billy's hands either side of his face and leaned in again. Billy shifted off the bench to his knees, kissing Fred's. Life, heat and rhythm. He felt Fred's arousal, and (in contrast) the stillness of his own body. His desire was just a potent ghost. As Fred's hand moved to the fly of Billy's breeches, the pleasure was intense (once again Billy was reduced to wordless moans) but there was not gesture to support the pleasure. Fred paused to look at him. No judgement, just curiosity. "Don't concern yourself. I feel pleasure but my heart no longer beats." His hand found evidence of Fred's desire, and he stopped himself from finishing the youth there and then. After all, this might be the last love he'll ever make. Instead he unwrapped Fred from his clothes and drank in the sculpture of his body in the moonlight. And then he lay beneath Fred and felt the pulse enter him. His hand stretched back and tangled in Fred's hair as he came, and then breathed. Billy breathed too, just a gesture. Inflating his back against Fred's stomach, not wanting their movement together to end.