Jack pulled up to the curb of the nice ranch style home located just a little ways outside of town. It was fairly modern looking, probably a model home when the neighborhood was first built, and it was set far back on a well manicured lawn, bushes trimmed and symmetrical, flower bed bursting with color—anything but intimidating.

He looked at his watch. It was close to seven but was still bright out, dusk an hour or so away. He'd left the hospital twenty minutes before, making sure Eliza was all right and that her parents were there (even Lureen), then excused himself and drove directly to the house owned by the man he was dreading confronting.

"This is gonna be a fuckin' nightmare. Rather get all my teeth pulled out with no Novocain than walk up that man's driveway and knock on his door."

Jack had taken a quick lunch break after Marla had returned from the grocery store earlier that day, and had used the time to make a few phone calls rather than eat (he hadn't been hungry anyway). He stood outside, chain smoking and feeling oddly chilled for the intense dryness of the day. He had to walk around the cement pillars to find good reception, ended up sitting on the same bench he'd sat on when he'd called Ennis.

The first person he'd called was Jeremy Kilburn, one of his loosely termed "golfing buddies". Jeremy was an okay guy. Jack had had lunch with him a few times (including the day he'd first picked up Close Range) and they'd all been decent experiences. Jeremy worked at the First Bank and Trust on Main Street in downtown Childress, and out of the whole group Lureen practically forced him to socialize with, Jack liked Jeremy the best, which wasn't saying much. Jeremy just didn't annoy him like the others did; he was quiet enough and real enough to not turn Jack off so he could tolerate spending time with him on occasion.

The phone rang (he called his business cell since it was still daytime hours).

"Jeremy Kilburn, First Bank and Trust. How may I help you?" Jeremy voice was high-pitched and he always sounded like he had a cold, like he was breathing through his mouth—which partially explained why he didn't talk much.

"Hey Jeremy, it's Jack. Can I ask you a favor?"

There was a pause; Jack could imagine him looking at his watch—he was always short on time. "Well, sure Jack. What can I do fer ya?"

"You remember Leroy Patterson, guy that golfs with us sometimes?"

"Oh sure, yeah! I know Leroy, friendly young guy. What about him?"

Jack cleared his throat and took in a breath. "Do you happen ta have his address, or know where he lives?"

"Hold on a minute." There was a shuffling noise and then a muffled conversation. Jack waited, smoked his cigarette.

"Sorry 'bout that, Jack. Duty calls." He coughed. "But, uh, I don't have Leroy's address, so it seems like you've been barkin' up the wrong tree."

Jack frowned at the use of the phrase. "Do you know anyone that does?"

Another pause and some more muffled words. "Sorry again, there's a management meetin' that I need to get to. But, uh, try Marty Benson."

"Marty Benson, as in the Marty Benson that works fer me?"

"Is there another?"

Jack furrowed his brows. "I didn't know him n' Leroy were friends."

"They've been buddies fer a while. He'll probably have his address. Why do ya need it anyway?"

Jack swallowed. "Oh, uh, my granddaughter Eliza is friends with his daughter and she didn't get ta send her a birthday card." He gave a fake laugh. "It's my duty ta hunt down his address now."

"There's the phone book…"

"Yeah, I tried that, he's unlisted."

"What about your family? You said you granddaughter's friend with his daughter, right? Don't they know the address?"

Jack was silent. "Shit, didn't think this through did, ya? You should a' known he'd ask somethin' like that!" Marla surely knew the address, and certainly Jack could have asked her, but he really didn't want his family to get any whiff of what he was doing—he just wanted to take care of it on his own and be done with it.

He swallowed. "Marla," He sputtered. "My daughter-in-law, she lost the address. It was on the invitation, but she misplaced it." Jack laughed, the same fake airy chuckly.

Jeremy seemed to chew that over. "Well, I wish you luck in yer hunt, Jack. I've gotta get back ta work. We should get together sometime soon, have lunch."

Jack flicked his smoke off to the side, wrung his hands. "Sure. Sounds good. Thanks fer yer help."

He heard the phone click back on to the receiver and then he hit the "END" button, silencing the buzz of bad reception. Jack took in a shaky breath. That had been close and he hadn't gotten anywhere. He ran a hand over his face, sat up straight and dialed the Newsome Farm Equipment office number.

Ten minutes later, Jack was back in the elevator heading towards the ICU, Leroy's address scribbled on an old receipt in his pocket.

And now, here he was, sitting in his truck, staring up at the house that had no right to look so friendly and inviting.

"Maybe ya got this all wrong. You're goin' on the word of a nine year old, after all…maybe it's not what you thought."

Jack shook his head. Eliza was young, but she'd been very upset by something she'd heard, and there's no way she could of made up that word or mistaken something Leroy had said for something else. Jack took in a deep breath, steeled himself, and opened the door. His legs felt weak when his boots touched the ground, and he tightened his hands into fists to try and shake it off.

"Come on, just get it over with. The longer ya string it out, the worse it's gonna be."

Jack headed up the driveway. It made him a little sick to his stomach that he was reminded of his first trip to Wyoming and walking up to Ennis' front door, but really the situations were completely different. First off, Jack knew what he was doing this time. He only had one thing to say and he was going to say it and leave as soon as possible. Secondly, he wasn't so much nervous about approaching Leroy as he was angry and a little troubled—the whole situation just didn't bode well with him. He pushed away thoughts of Wyoming and Ennis (didn't want to taint them by association) and stepped onto Leroy's front porch. He stared at the door.

"Do it. Everything depends on this. Do it."

Jack pressed the small doorbell, heard the chime echo through the house. He waited.

Everything was riding on this confrontation—everything, and not just because of Leroy and what he could possibly do or say if Jack didn't do this. No, this was important because if Jack was serious about being with Ennis, if he was serious about changing his life style, then he had to learn to step up and deal with all the shit that came with being gay. He had to show he wasn't afraid of what others had to say about him, wasn't intimidated by their actions, and could give a fuck what they thought. He had to—

The door creaked as it opened and Jack tensed. He quickly remembered himself and stood up tall, stuck his chest out. He didn't bother taking off his hat.

An older woman stood at the door, smiling. "May I help you?"

Jack was thrown off, hadn't expected Leroy to answer, but hadn't been expecting this either. He smiled, feeling guilty and not sure why.

"Hello ma'am. Is this the Patterson Residence?"

She smiled. "Yes it is. Are you here ta pick up the clothes?"

Jack looked around. "Uh…no…"

"You're not with the Salvation Army?"

He frowned. "What the hell has she been drinkin'? Do I look like I'm here from the Salvation Army?"

He cut right to the chase. "Is Leroy here? I'm a golf buddy a' his. I need ta talk with him."

The woman squinted to get a better look at Jack, then laughed. "I'm sorry. We've been waitin' for the Salvation Army truck ta come for two weeks now, thought they might a' forgotten 'bout us." She shook her head. "I'm 'fraid you've come callin' on the wrong night, though. There's an Elk social."

"On a Thursday?"

"Oh yes. Those Elk's are always havin' somethin' or other, even on weeknights—not like they go on till all hours a' the night, though."

Jack nodded. "Well do ya know when he'll be back?"

She paused. "Well, even though those social's don't go late, don't mean Leroy don't come home late. Afterwards he'll go out with some a' his friends to that bar, you know the one, the Rusty Mug. But Felicia usually comes home right after the social, she don't like stayin' out too late."

Felicia was Leroy's wife; Jack knew that.

"What time do the social's usually end?"

The woman bit her lip, thinking. From inside the house, Jack could hear a dog barking and the television blaring, could smell the strong stench of frying onions.

The woman opened the door a little wider and rested her hand on the doorknob. "It should be over by 9:30 or so. It'll probably be around ten by the time Leroy heads out to the bar. You could meet him there, I'm sure."

Jack nodded. "Thank you fer yer time." He tipped his hat at the woman and turned to walk away, not giving any sort of explanation, not feeling like he needed to. He returned to his truck and slid inside, slamming the door behind him.

So he'd have to confront him in a bar. Jack pulled down the sun visor because the light was now shining at an angle and it hurt his eyes. He turned on the ignition.

"Can't you wait till tomorrow?"

But what was to say Leroy wouldn't be out again, especially on a Friday night?

Jack put the truck into drive and pulled away from the curb. He adjusted his hat on his head to help guard against the sun. As much as he didn't like it, he'd made up his mind. He was going to do it tonight, he was going to take care of it as soon as possible, because if he didn't he never would. And hiding from his problems was no way to solve them.

Jack sat at a corner booth in the small, smoky bar room with a good view of the door. The light in the room was dim enough that he was barely noticeable with his hat pulled low over his eyes.

The Rusty Mug was less than bustling, the only people occupying its barstools and booths the old ghosts that had haunted the place for years (any young people that wanted to drink went outside of town to do it). Jack himself didn't frequent the bar, but he recognized several faces he'd seen around Childress; an old woman that raised horses outside of town sat alone at the bar, gray hair braided down her back; a couple of men that were known as the town drunks sloshed their drinks and talked with each other, occasionally yelling at the bartender. Jack took another sip of his beer and looked down at his wrist.

"Shit! You forgot yer watch, ya asshole!"

He'd told himself he had to remember to bring it so he'd have a good sense of time, so he could psyche himself up as it got closer to ten. Just then a waitress walked past and he snapped his head up, hailed her over with a wave of his hand and a loud, "Ma'am!"

The waitress, slightly older, probably in her mid forties, sauntered up to him, big hips swaying in her tight blue jeans. She set her wet tray down on the table and raised one of her unnaturally thin eyebrows.

"What'cha want?" She flipped her long curly red hair over her shoulder.

"You got the time?" Jack tipped his hat back on his head to see her more clearly.

"Got the time ta what, have a drink with you? Because I'll have ta check my planner, got a lot a' fellas askin' me…"

Jack smiled. He liked her, she had sass, and that had always been a turn on for him. "Just want the time. I forgot my watch."

She smirked, raised her wrist to check her own watch. "It's 'bout ten till ten."

Jack nodded. The waitress stood there a little longer. "So what d'ya say 'bout that drink, cowboy?"

He laughed. It had been a long time since anyone had called him that. He shook his head. "Maybe some other time."

She picked up her tray. "Well all right. But you just remember my name if ya ever want ta take me up on the offer."

Jack had to play along—he'd always loved flirting with saucy gals and he needed some light distraction to settle the butterflies in his stomach.

"And what is yer name? Surely somethin' lovely ta fit such a lovely woman."

She smiled, a secretive smile that made it seem like she'd just heard something wildly funny or inappropriate. She ran her tongue over her teeth.

"Tina, but my friends call me Teeny."

"Music to my ears." He made sure to smile big as he said, "Jack Twist."

She gave him a nod—a silent howdy—and a wink, then walked off, nothing more to say, but made sure to wag her hips so as to show off her big ass. Jack smiled and chuckled to himself. It didn't get old, at least not when it was just for fun. If she'd been a little more serious (like Grace-Anne had gotten) then he probably wouldn't have played along. He still shook his head and gave a little whistle under his lips as she walked away though, thighs brushing and jeans hugging. He shrugged. So he was queer now (whatever that meant), didn't mean he couldn't appreciate a good-looking woman.

Jack settled back into the shadow of the booth, chuckling to himself, and re-positioned his hat low over his eyes. But just as he was feeling normal again, almost comfortable, the door to the bar swung open and in walked three men, the tall one in the middle all smiles and good nature, Polo Shirt and Khaki's impeccably chosen (most likely by his wife): Leroy Patterson.

Jack felt his throat tighten and he sat up in the booth. There he was, and he was with two other friends.

"Well what did ya expect? The old woman even told ya he went out with a couple buddies. You act like this is shockin' news."

But now there were two more he had to deal with. He didn't know what to do. He'd been set with his plan when he'd thought Leroy would be home, but now they were in a completely different situation and he was clueless. He watched them sit (they chose a table in the middle of the room), and then watched as Teeny took their order. He remained in the dark corner, frozen, as she brought out two pitchers of beer and even as they laughed and joked and drained their first pitcher.

"Get up. Get up. Get up. Do it, Jack."

It was almost 11:30 before he stood up, legs shaking, palms sweating, breaths coming in short, sharp intakes. He shuffled towards their table, hands hanging heavy beside him, boots like they were filled with lead. He stopped short of the table, cleared his throat.

The men looked up. Leroy's eye lit with recognition. "Jack? Jack Twist?"

Jack felt like a large roll of quarters was lodged in his throat. He took in a deep breath and wiped his palms on his jeans. "Leroy." His voice came out tight and unfriendly. "Need ta have a word with you."

Leroy frowned. "'Bout what?"

He cleared his throat. "Can we talk in private fer a minute?"

Leroy looked around the table at his two other friends, both clean cut, one fat with a mustache, the other short and thin with a button up shirt and tie. He took a swallow of beer, wiped the excess liquid off his mouth with the back of his hand. He laughed suspiciously.

"Well pardon me fer askin', but, uh, what d'ya need ta talk to me about?"

"I just need ta have a word with you. Won't take long, you can get back ta yer buddies in a second."

Leroy leaned back in his seat. "I think whatever you have to say ta me, you can say in front a' these guys." He crossed his arms to show his word was final.

Jack tightened his fists and straightened, revving himself up for what he had to say.

"Okay, Leroy. I guess that's fair enough." He paused, processing his words. "My granddaughter told me she overheard a conversation you had with yer wife a few weeks back. Don't know if you remember…"

"I have a lot of conversations with my wife, and Eliza's at our house a lot. So I'm not so sure I know what you're talkin' 'bout."

Jack gritted his teeth. "I think you do. I'm not gonna spell it out, but I think you know exactly what I'm talkin' about.'

Leroy pursed his lips. Jack continued. "I just wanted ta let you know that you have no right assumin' things and nosin' around where you got no business, understand? I don't wanna hear 'bout you flappin' yer mouth around town, things that you don't know are true."

"Are they true?" Leroy held Jack's gaze, didn't back down like Jack was hoping he would. He felt a ball of anger form in his stomach, and he put both his hands on the table, bent down to get a closer look at Leroy, to let him know he was serious.

"Look. I don't want no trouble, but I also want ta let you know that you crossed the line. If you want ta say somethin', say it to my face, don't go parrotin' 'round behind my back like a spineless coward that don't have the will ta stand up for himself."

"You fuckin' sonofabitch. You got no right ta talk to me like this."

"I got every right." He pointed at Leroy's chest, paused momentarily. "So you just think before you open yer ugly mouth again."

He stood up straight, feeling like a huge weight had been lifter off his chest.

"That's all." He tipped his hat at the men. They sat, dumbfounded, too chicken shit or too angry to say anything. Jack turned and walked out the bar.

It was midnight. Jack had left the bar feeling restless, and ended up driving around Childress with the windows down, the cool air refreshing on his face, the street lights against the dark sky soothing for his troubled mind. He circled the town, going up and down Main Street, driving Ave. F too many times to count.

He smoked cigarette after cigarette, until he ran out, finishing his third pack for that day.

"Jesus Christ, boy. You're gonna get lung cancer jest from the past week, probably smoked more in four days than ya have yer whole life."

Jack finally got tired of the empty streets—like some run down, abandoned Hollywood set—and headed back home, but he took the long route, going out of town and driving one of the old country roads that he liked to take walks down from time to time.

At night, these lone rural roads were almost mystical, like some old black and white movie (for some reason they always reminded him of the movie To Kill a Mockingbird, quiet and full of childhood wonder). He couldn't explain why, but it calmed him, these roads at night, made his stomach settle and in general made him smile. Maybe it was because it reminded him of when he was young, living in Lightening Flat before he'd had to worry about anything accept how best to avoid beatings from his daddy. He used to sneak out at night, creep down the stairs or climb out his window and just walk up and down the dirt road that led up to their house, letting the wind and the stars keep him company. Jack smirked. Those days held some kind of sentiment for him, unhappy though they were, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. But nonetheless, Jack still got a comforting feeling when on the road, so he tried to go out and walk, or at least drive down it, whenever he got the chance.

Suddenly, his truck lurched and the engine popped. It shook and rattled. Jack took his foot off the accelerator, put the truck into neutral to see if that helped, but still had a hard time controlling the hulking vehicle, the engine wheezing and moaning like it had suddenly had a fatal heart attack.

He slowed down, eased his foot onto the brake and pulled over to the side of the road, then turned it off, took out the key and let it rest momentarily. When he thought it was okay to try again, he turned the ignition, but as he'd feared—nothing. The truck was dead to the world.

"Shit! Thought I got this fixed! What the fuck is goin' on?"

There was no excuse as to why he was having more trouble with the engine. He'd had the cooling fan replaced for God's sake! Jack blew out a long breath of air and rubbed his forehead. He looked around the interior of the truck for a flashlight, the dark from the surrounding area closing in on him. He thought he carried one in the glove box, but apparently he'd taken it out because it was nowhere to be seen.

Jack reached into his back pocket to get his cell phone and call Lureen or Bobby to come pick him up. But it wasn't there. He searched his other three pockets—nothing.

"Fuck! Did you really forget your cell phone?"

Jack had a sudden mental flash to the kitchen table. He'd been sitting eating a bowl of cereal before he left to go to the bar, and he'd set the phone in front of him so he wouldn't have to fish it out of his pants if it rang. It was still sitting there, he was sure of it.

"Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck, hell, and some more shit!" He hit the steering wheel with his fist then leaned back in his seat, defeated. He was all alone, and it made him slightly nervous. Jack tensed and tried to ignore the pitch black sky, the empty fields of grass blowing slightly in the breeze, his lone country road that led nowhere but to more suffocating darkness—it wasn't soothing now, it had suddenly twisted in his mind, appeared cold and cruel. Three men with tire irons and eyes red with hate entered his mind (blood splattered from his cracked skull), and panic hit Jack over the head with a vengeance. He swallowed, told himself to remain calm, then opened the door of the truck and stepped out.

"Okay Jack. You're gonna be fine. You're gonna walk home and then you're gonna shit yer pants, but not till then, got it?"

He nodded, agreeing with himself—he figured that was the best plan of action.

"Less someone else comes up with somethin' better." But the crickets weren't sharing their secrets, so he crossed his arms over his chest to guard himself from the cool air and started walking west towards his house.

It was then that he saw the bright headlights of an oncoming car peek through the grass several yards in the distance. Someone was coming around a curve in the road at breakneck speed and Jack immediately felt the panic rise up in his throat that he'd been struggling to contain. He kept walking, still not very far from his truck. The car turned the corner and it was close enough now for the brights to nearly illuminate him. Jack froze. He suddenly had the impulse to run and hide in the grass, avoid whoever was speeding down the road at midnight on a Thursday, but then the lights were on him and he was trapped, like a convict in a spotlight caught trying to escape prison.

The car slowed. Jack slowed his pace as well, hoping, praying, that the driver was just being cautious not to hit him, and that it wasn't actually stopping. He continued walking, slowly step by step, boots crunching gravel, the hair on the back of his neck and arms standing on end. And then, just as Jack had feared, the car slowed completely and pulled over right in front of him. He was trapped unless he turned the other way and ran.

The bright white light made Jack squint and he brought a hand up to shield his eyes. He waited anxiously for something to happen and then the door opened, a boot stepped on the ground and a hand reached out and grabbed the top of the door. With the light glaring, Jack couldn't tell what kind of car it was, but it was sleek and was probably an expensive model.

"Hello?" He called out. "I had some car trouble, uh, was jest walkin' back ta my house."

A man stood up, figure dark. "That so?"

He knew the voice; he'd heard it not to long before. Jack felt bile start to form in the back of his throat and he forced it back down. The man took a few steps away from the car and stepped in front of the headlight, showing himself, much to Jack's dismay.

"Anythin' I can do ta help?" Leroy's voice was cool, his Polo shirt and khaki pants still fresh and clean looking.

Jack swallowed. So it had come to this. He'd decided to take things into his own hands, try and tell the man off, and now he'd gone and simply pissed him off, sealed his own fate while he was trying to avoid it.

"It's inevitable. The book had it in for you and ya can't escape it, no matter what you do or how hard ya try. You can't escape it"

But none of this would have happened if it hadn't been for the book right? So he'd really sealed his fate when he'd picked it up and read it, had sent certain things spiraling into motion and out of his hands. He swallowed.

"You really come out here ta help?"

"Guess not." Leroy took a step closer.

"There's only one a' him, though. You can take him down, you still got it in ya. If he had his friends with him you might have ta worry, but this asshole can't be too tough, right?"

Leroy looked down at his boots, scratched his head.

"Surprisingly chilly out tonight."

"Don't chit chat with me. Say what you really came out here ta say."

"I didn't come out here lookin' for you. This is the way I usually take ta get home. Anyway, I just saw ya walkin' out here, figured luck was on my side."

"Well here I am. Cut to the chase."

Leroy was silent, obviously surprised by Jack's hostility. "You embarrassed me in front a' my friends."

"You embarrassed me in front a' my granddaughter. Had an awful time explainin' what a faggot was ta her." He spit the word faggot out, tasted sick in his mouth.

Leroy sucked in a deep breath. "So we are on the same page, then."

"Not many other pages. Keep up with me now."

Leroy took a step closer to Jack, drew his body up. Jack prepared himself to spring, to fight back with all his might, to try and save his own life. He had too much riding now, too many things at stake, he couldn't die now, he couldn't. He held back the emotion that was threatening to show itself and clenched his fists. Leroy came close enough so Jack could see his hazel eyes, angry, but not dull, not drunk.

"I should kick yer ass."

Jack was silent. He didn't want to encourage him.

"You got some nerve, Twist. Some nerve…" He shook his head and then suddenly his body language changed, he let his shoulders relax and he looked from side to side. His chest rose and fell with a large sigh.

"You got a smoke?"

Jack was surprised by his change in attitude, wasn't ready to let down his guard.

"Not for you."

Leroy chuckled. "Didn't figure." He kicked at the gravel with his toe. "You must hate me right now, and I don't blame you."

Jack felt a chill run down his spine. His fists relaxed slightly. "What?"

Leroy looked up, anger gone from his eyes, some other emotion now replacing it.

"I'm sorry, Jack."

Jack nearly fell over. Had he heard him right? His tongue got tied up and he could utter was a useless mumble.

The man standing before him, head lights at his back making him dark enough to blend into the sky, shrugged.

"You heard me. I owe you an apology."

Jack laughed uncomfortably. "Hold on, there…I don't understand."

"You don't have to. I don't know what you were expectin', me pullin' over in the middle a' the night. Hell, I guess I would a' thought the worse if I were in your shoes…" He spit on the ground. "But I don't wanna fight ya, or beat ya, or whatever. I was mad when you approached me in the bar, mad as hell, mostly embarrassed since my pals were there, and I was pissed when I saw you walkin' down the road, felt like I jest couldn't get away from ya. But…I'm really not a bad guy."

Jack couldn't believe what he was hearing. He felt like he was in a fog, everything around him moving in slow motion.

"Yeah. I'm just…" He looked down for a moment, then met Jack's gaze. "Look, I'm sorry 'bout what I said. I didn't mean no harm from it. I just…" He chuckled. "I read this weird book with a character named Jack Twist, and I thought it was funny. I got a little carried away talkin' with my wife one night, I'll admit."

He coughed into his hand. "What I'm tryin' ta say is, I wouldn't go blabbin' to anyone else spreadin' rumors…I don't know you, and it was just a stupid book, honestly I'm not that much of an asshole." He shook his head. "Hell, I don't even mind gay guys. Got no real beef with 'em like some fellas do. My cousin's gay, lives out in Dallas."

Jack was silent. He couldn't' move. Leroy looked back up at him.

"So that's all. Just wanted to clear all that up with you, so we don't have no problems, okay?"

Jack nodded. He felt like he'd been hit by a train, couldn't quite comprehend what had just happened. Leroy clapped his hands together.

"So d'ya want me ta give you a ride as an act of good will? So we can finish all this?"

Jack looked at the man suspiciously. He didn't know if he trusted him that much.

"How 'bout we just shake on it? I'm not too far from my house…the fresh air'l be good fer me."

Leroy nodded. "Sure enough." He reached his hand out and Jack grasped it, gave it a firm shake—a tricky feat since he was just about shaking all over.

Then Leroy retreated to his car. "I guess I'll see you 'round then, Jack."

Jack blinked. "Hopefully later rather than sooner." He hadn't been able to control himself, and the words had slipped out.

The man behind the open passenger door just chuckled. "Yeah, I'll give you that one." And without another word he climbed all the way into his car and pulled back onto the road, driving away and leaving Jack shivering in the still, early morning air.

Jack watched as the dark car drove past his truck, then down a little hill, then around another turn in the road until the sky was as dark and the grass as still as if Leroy had never been there. He couldn't move, his feet had grown roots and he was planted helplessly on the side of the road, twisted and strange.

He stood there for almost fifteen minutes, silent, the only sound his soft breathing and the grass rustling in the breeze, an occasional cricket or cicada crying out. He finally broke his paralysis and looked up at the sky, enjoyed the rush of cool air that went up his nose and through his eyelashes. The sky was dark, the moon little more than a sliver, slowly working its way to a half pie, the stars bright but distant, making Jack feel smaller and more alone than he had in a long, long time. Finally he started walking.

He counted his steps as they pounded on the ground, one, two, three, four, tried to time his breaths with them, but eventually found it too difficult and had to slow his breathing, got it to where he sucked in a breath and then let it out for every four footsteps. The pattern made him feel a little better, not as lost. He shook his head.

Jack didn't know what to think now. He couldn't think, he was beyond thinking. Leroy hadn't tried to fight him, hadn't wanted to kill him or do anything to him except apologize—the big bad grizzly had turned into a teddy bear. It didn't seem possible. Jack had been sure that the hammer had just hit the other foot, that it was all about to go down, that he may never see his family again. In those few terrifying moments everything had gone haywire, his brain and his heart. And now he was mixed up and he didn't know how to get back on the road he knew and loved.

And now there was one blaring truth he realized: whatever hold Annie Proulx's Brokeback Mountain had had on him wasn't as strong as he'd originally thought. His life had been spiraling out of control, it had seemed, like it was out of his hands and left up to some supreme sort of fate. And he'd eaten it up, every bit of it, getting a thrill out the idea, out the concept of predetermined destiny, like some religious fanatic. And that's what the book had become for him, full of mysteries and glory, a nearly religious object to behold. He'd been obsessed with it, with the characters and their lives and their love, and suddenly…he felt like the wool had been pulled from his eyes, like a child that discovers Santa is just their dad trying to make ends meet.

Brokeback Mountain was a story, period. That was a fact. It was fiction and no matter how much Jack wanted to believe it wasn't, it was. There had been similarities to his life, but how many were because he sought those similarities out? How many coincidences had actually been his doing?

He wasn't dead. And he was happy? As sick as it sounded, Jack honestly wasn't sure.

"That would a' been the final act, the final chapter to this story, the last step ta bringin' our worlds together."

But all it came down to was this: fiction was fiction and reality was reality. They didn't mix. Jack had a sudden glimpse of Eliza laying in the hospital bed, alone and miserable, lost amongst the white sheets, her pale face a mask of illness. Jack swallowed. That had never happened in the book, no one had gotten sick. No, that was a shot of real life, something that Jack had been neglecting while chasing his fairy tales, something he had been so close to giving up while he was off in the mountains, his version of happily ever after.

He kept walking. Thirty minutes later, he reached his driveway. He stopped at the foot, stared up at the dark outline of the sprawling ranch style house, a couple acres of land stretching around it on either side. He wanted to feel some sort of comfort at the sight, but all he felt was numbness. He walked up to the open garage, unclosed since he'd left earlier that evening (Lureen's car nowhere in sight). Jack strode across the smooth cement floor, boot heels echoing, bouncing from wall to wall, ground to ceiling. He climbed the steps to the house and walked in.

The laundry room was dark, the kitchen just as black, all silent. No surprise. Jack ignored the darkness and made a beeline for the kitchen table. There on the bleached and polished maple wood laid his cell phone. He picked it up, and sat down in the chair closest to the patio doors, the faint moonlight pouring in through the blinds, washing him with horizontal bars of light.

He dialed Ennis' number. It was 1:30.

"Hello?" Ennis' voice was sleepy but gruff, on edge—no one likes phone calls in the middle of the night. Jack swallowed, ignored the sweet feeling he got at the sound of that man's voice.

"Ennis." The only word he could speak. There was a shuffle as the phone was rearranged.

"Jack? That you? Shit, what time is it? Are you all right? Why you callin' in the middle a' the night?" His voice no longer clouded with sleep, his mumble dissolved, replaced with a clear panic.

Jack rested his chin on the back of the kitchen chair. "I'm fine. Calm down."

There was a pause and a sound like Ennis' hand covering the mouthpiece, and then he was back. "Shit, Jack. You really gave me a scare there." He let out a shaky breath. "What's wrong? This can't just be a howdy do."

"No." For once he was feeling less than chatty. His stomach tossed and churned. He cleared his throat. "I had a talk with Leroy tonight."

Silence. "Leroy. That guy you were tellin' me 'bout? The one who might know 'bout the story?"

Jack nodded as though Ennis could see him. "He knows about the story."

"Shit." Ennis hissed. "What happened? Did he hurt you?" The volume of his voice increased.

"No. He…" Jack still could hardly believe it. "He don't have nothin' against me personally. He just apologized." He purposely decided to leave out the part about his truck going out again, about the terror that had taken hold of him when the lone, dark car pulled over and Leroy stepped out.

"He apologized." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah that was all. He don't have a problem with me, knows about the book, but not much else, think he just found it coincidental."

"And can you actually trust him? Or was he just playin' with you?"

"I think if he was playin' with me he would have taken care a' things while he had the chance."

Ennis was silent. "Jack, where are you? Are you at yer house?"

"I am now." He didn't want to talk about Leroy anymore. He took in a deep breath. "This ain't why I called."

Ennis seemed to think that statement over. "Why did you call?" His voice was quiet.

"I…" Jack struggled to find his words. "I don't know when I'll be comin' back ta Wyoming…"

"Okay…" He sounded doubtful. "I thought that was understood. That's fine, jest do what you have ta do."

Jack closed his eyes against the white moonlight. "No. I mean, I don't think I will be comin' back."

He waited for some response, got nothing. He continued. "A lot has happened since we last talked. Eliza's comin' outta the dark, she has a good chance a' recoverin' now."

"Good ta hear."

"Yeah. I also had a talk with Bobby, cleared some things up."

"Jack…"

He cut Ennis off. "What I'm sayin' is, I've got a lot a' things to think about. I have ta get things in order. My family…" He shook his head, repositioned himself in the chair so he could hold the phone closer to his mouth.

"Ennis, I've been a half assed family man my whole life. And, I'm just startin' ta see that I ain't been the only one that was unhappy…" Silence. "I just have ta figure some things out."

"I'm not followin' you…" Ennis voice was rough.

Jack felt tears in his eyes, didn't know when they'd appeared, but blinked them back and tried to swallow the sharp pain in his throat. "I'm sayin' maybe I was wrong. Maybe this whole story thing is just that…a story."

A long pause. "You mean that?"

"I don't know what I mean. I have ta sort some stuff out s'all."

"So you won't be comin' back then, huh? You just givin' up on that ranch dream a' yers."

"You were the one that was hesitant, that didn't know what you wanted. Well I'm answerin' that question for ya. You don't want me. You don't want this, this…queer thing. Just go on with yer life, okay? It was fun while it lasted, but we were both stupid to think it could go anywhere."

"You don't mean that."

"I do mean that!" His voice rose, felt like he had to shout to get his point across. "I mean that. And I'm sorry because this was all my fault. I'm the one that read that book and just couldn't keep it to myself. I hunted you down, I started all this, and it was a mistake."

"Don't tell me you think it was a mistake. Don't you say that!" Ennis' voice got real low, barely above a whisper. "You're the only friend I've ever had, Jack."

His words cut straight through Jack's chest. He wiped the wetness away from his eyes.

"I'm sorry. But we can't follow the lives a' two fictional characters, we gotta face the real world."

"What's real Jack? What about Brokeback? How we could a' been workin' up there together back in '63!"

"That didn't happen though, and maybe it was a good thing."

"Jack—"

"I gotta go, Ennis." He pulled the phone away from his ear. One last desperate "Jack" wafted out of the speaker, and then he hit the "END" button, cutting off the voice, and cutting off his tie to Ennis Del Mar.