The following night passed itself in much the same fashion: a spirited round of drinking, followed by a spirited round of fighting, followed by an even more spirited round of drinking. He and Peter had both fallen into a deep, drunken sleep when the cold slap of the cobblestone road woke them. They'd been...evicted from MacSorley's, a place even the insects found repulsive. Peter spun awkwardly around, ready to strike, but stopped in his tracks when he saw just who had thrown them out: a man twice his size and three times his weight...a man everyone called, simply, "The Ox". Even Peter, dense as he was, knew better than to challenge The Ox when he'd made a decision.

"And a good night to you too, sir." Liam called after The Ox as he slammed the door to the tavern. "Come on, gobshite," he said, giving Peter a shove. "The night's young still, and..." he paused, making himself seem as large as he could, mocking Peter's hulking stance "...there's drinkin' yet to be done!" They both laughed at this, though, judging by the dim expression on Peter's face, he suspected his friend hadn't caught this little dig at his character. "But first, home for..." he held up and empty coin purse "...provisions."

As they reached his family's home, he advised Peter to wait outside, lest his somewhat clumsy gait should rouse them from their beds. He worked his key in the lock, eased open the door, crept inside, and was utterly surprised to see his father, sitting, staring at the door with a candle in hand, the flame gleaming in his dark eyes.

"Good evenin', father. Glad to see you've taken an interest in...staring at the door."
"As should you," his father's face turned from a mask of indifference to an unmistakable scowl, something he'd perfected with years of practice, "After all, you'll not be goin' through it again. Not tonight."

"I'm afraid I have to disagree, father. I've important business to attend to yet."

"Not if you wish to remain in my household." He knew his father was absolutely serious.

He turned and was about to walk out, his hand already on the door handle, when he heard muffled sobs coming from the far wall. He moved in closer and saw his mother and sister, Kathy, standing in a doorway...darling, innocent, naive Kathy. She thought the world of him...and he thought the world of her. They shared their secrets, thoughts, dreams...even their fears. Kathy was the only one who knew he still slept with a candle burning most nights. He felt tears in his eyes. He walked slowly over to them, concentrating to keep himself from stumbling. He'd rather die than have his sister think less of him.

He took his mother's hand and kissed her cheek. A glance passed between them and he swore he saw pity in her eyes. He looked down and saw she'd slipped a few bank notes into his palm. He tried to look at her again, but couldn't bring himself to it. Instead, he knelt to face his sister, a girl just turned ten and yet there was so much of the nobility of a woman in her. He took her face in his hands and wiped away a tear. "Sweet Kathy," he whispered, "No tears...we'll meet again."

"Defy me now, you won't. Not as long as I live." his father's voice, thundering and full of conviction erupted behind him.

He let his hand brush his sister's face reassuringly once more before turning around, raising up to look his father in the eye. He moved toward him. "You'll want to move away from the door now, father," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Go through it, but don't ever expect to come back." He detected a note of sadness in his father's otherwise harsh tone.

"As you wish, father. Always just as you wish." He moved past him, toward the door. His father blocked his way again.

"It's a son I wished for -a man! Instead, God gave me you," he looked him up and down, as if assessing a broken down horse, "A terrible disappointment."

He turned around once again, suddenly very angry. "Disappointment?" he spat the word. "A more dutiful son you couldn't have asked for. My whole life you've told me, in word, in glance, what it is you've required of me, and I've lived down to your every expectation, now haven't I?"

"That's madness!"

"No. The madness is that I couldn't fail enough for you. But we'll fix that now, won't we?" he smiled a forced, painful smile.
"I fear for you, lad" his father looked away, but he followed, his gaze never wavering from his father's eyes.

"And is that the only thing you can find in your heart for me now, father?"

His father stammered, and it seemed, for the first time in his life, that the old man was unsure of what to say. Finally: "Who will take you in? No one!" there was no real conviction in his voice anymore, just pleading.

"I'll not lack for a place to sleep, I can tell you that. Out of my way."

"I was never in your way, boy." His father's lip trembled as his own eyes filled with tears. He pushed him aside and dashed out the door, into the night.

As he ran, vision blurred, with Peter staggering along somewhere behind him, he heard his father call after him: "If you go courting trouble, you're sure to find it!"

The next few hours were a blur of whiskey. The usual stout wasn't fast enough as far as he was concerned. Besides, one could, if one were so inclined, persuade the barkeep to leave the entire bottle when it came to whiskey. At first, he grimaced at the burning warmth the thick, brown liquid left behind as it made its way down his throat. After a few deep swallows, though, he came to wonder how he'd ever survived without it. It filled the emptiness. It helped him forget what he was, if only for a moment. And so, he drank more, foregoing he and Peter's usual drinking games for simple, pure, alcoholic bliss.

Once he'd sufficiently forgotten what he'd been drinking to forget, he beckoned Peter and they made their way toward the door. He heard Peter, seeming miles away, ask where exactly they were going. He didn't answer. He didn't know. He only knew it was somewhere dreadfully important and that he must get there as quickly as possible. Three steps out the door, Peter fainted dead away. He looked down at him and smiled, filled with a sense of self-satisfaction in knowing that he'd finally out drank the man who always seemed to have a bit more drinking to do.

"Why don't you rest right here?" he gave his friend's relatively lifeless form a good, swift kick and then lost total interest. He looked around a moment, unsure of where to go...and then he caught a glimpse of golden hair and...those eyes. He followed them into the alley behind MacSorley's, though he would have willingly followed them into Hell itself. They stopped, and turned to face him, their owner, the face he couldn't get out of his mind looking exactly as it had the night before.

"So I ask myself," he began, trying his best to sound suave despite the obvious slur in his speech, "What's a lady of your station doing alone in an alley with the reputation that this one has?"

She turned away. "Maybe she's lonely."

"In that case, I'd offer myself as escort to protect you from harm, and to while away the dull hours."

"You're very gracious," she said, her back still turned to him.

He laughed a little. "It's often been said."

She turned around to face him again. "Are you certain you're up to the challenge?"

"Milady, you'll find that, with the exception of an honest day's work, there's no challenge I'm not prepared to face." He moved in closer, once again unable to look away from those eyes. "Oh, but you're a pretty thing. Where are you from?"

She smiled and he found himself unable to move...and he didn't want to. "Around." She said, "Everywhere."

He stumbled over his words. "I...I've never been anywhere myself. Always wanted to see the world, but my father..." A single finger pressed to his lips silenced him.

"I could show you."

"Could you then?" he put his hands on her hips. She nodded.

"Things you've never seen...never even heard of."

"Sound's exciting." His voice was barely a whisper.

"It is. And frightening."

"I'm not afraid. Show me...show me your world."

She closed her eyes and nodded reassuringly, "Close your eyes."

He did as he was told and felt a loving hand on his shoulder. And then...the pain was exquisite. He opened his eyes, staring at the night sky with...complete fascination. The stars were there, as always, but they seemed to speak to him, now, though there were no words. Only soft, soothing tones, urging him to let go...to give in to eternity. He felt his legs give out...felt himself fall to his knees. He saw her...pulling a perfectly manicured fingernail across her chest...and then there was blood. She pressed his face to her bosom...and then everything felt...on fire...but that didn't matter now. All that mattered was the night...silent, dark and sweet. Before he felt the world fade away, two words floated across his mind: "Darling boy."