Jesse forced his focus away from the shimmering razor, its mesmerizing, swaying dance in the lunatic's long, decaying hands. He looked instead into the crazed, watering, intense stare that engulfed him, a misplaced hunger, even anxiety, for something more than sex. Despite his violence, his assailant also lived in a far-away place, even this moment, dreaming. He could almost see that other place behind the fixed stare. That dreaming rest, that wanting he knew, that was the only chance he had in this.

Jesse raised his voice over the forceful passion in the room. "You just want someone to be nice to you for awhile, right? That's all you wanted, right? That's what you said. Talk to me, man."

The question distracted the tall man. His addled mind had something else to focus on. The cute boy is talking to me. Not screaming. Not grabbing my things or trying to interfere with my pleasure. Just talking. To me. As if there was time. He hesitated.

Jesse spoke again. "I can be nice to you," he said softly. "I'm just really tired, and hurting. If I sleep for a while, I can be good to you."

The tall man, still holding the shining blade far above them both, slowly nodded his head. The once pretty boy wanted to be with him, wanted to be with him in the dreaming place, he was just hurting right now. This he could understand.

"Can you watch over me while I sleep? Please? I know you can protect me."

He could do that, that was not a hard thing. The junkie's racing mind repeatedly played over the unusual idea. He wants me to watch over him. He wants to be with me, like I thought. Emotions flitted across his face like insects behind the walls. Buzzing, churning, emerging, evolving. Anger, betrayal, sympathy, attraction, all vying equally to be experienced. He was a dangerous cauldron of wants and fears.

"Show me," he said to Jesse. He'd been tricked plenty of times before, of course. "Show me, now."

Jesse walked cautiously over to him, walked under the arc of the raised blade. His eyes were only about shoulder height to the addict. He looked up at him, looked at the grizzled chin and smooth throat of a fairly young man, skin weathered and further aged by extreme drug use, but with a subtle, wiry strength underneath the flesh. He was thin, did not care about food when indulging, but that also could make him lightening fast if he felt at all threatened. It looked like he used his long muscles often in fights, though his attitude, at the moment, seemed curiously placid toward him. Jesse tilted his head and began kissing the sensitive skin just below the tall man's neck, in the space allowed by the torn, black, reeking, found shirt. The skin was dry, yet, surprisingly, he did seem to have bathed recently. He felt the other shiver. Jesse stopped and whispered. "I'm sorry I can't use my hands. They hurt so much. I can't even lift them."

"You're doing fine," the other said. "I'll help you fix your hands. I can help you with a lot of things."

.-~~~~~-.

Marie's foot was jammed down to the floorboard. If she could have pushed it down further, she would have. It was the middle of the night on the deserted road and her luxury car did not squeal in protest as it raced purringly along to its unknown destination. If Walter was there, he would have laughed at the similarity to his own mad dash to that horrible place – mad being the operative word here, before and after.

The really horribly funny thing, though, is that she had made this trip multiple times now.

Ah, the New Mexico desert is a heartless, endless thing. Of course, there is a measure to it, a limit with boundaries, but it creeps steadily along and expands mindless of some neat, manmade pen marks on clean, white pieces of paper. It has eaten countless pages in its millennias of existence, along with the men that held such silly books, and has kept secrets forever.

I'll never find him, was the thought that pushed her foot farther and farther down. That son of a bitch. He knew that I was going to need help.

Marie lifted her foot, slowed the car almost to nothing. She looked into the dark, New Mexico sky. The stars shone bright in the heavens, the air that came through the open vents was sweet, she could hear her rapid heartbeat in the silence. The calm, saccharine night was laughing at her.

Why did I think I could just find him out here? That somehow he would just guide me to the right spot? I just ran off after I heard the name. She had returned to her isolated motel every morning that week covered in dirt and exhausted, only fell into sleep after chanting that she would find him tomorrow, the shovels in her trunk rattling the next evening as she went out again. The noise they made also seemed to accuse her, laugh at her, for her failures.

Henry, why the hell are you so quiet?

Because he's only in your head, sweetie. And you don't really know where to look.

But he does. Oh yes, he knows. The place is burned forever into his so-called soul.