"You can just feel the details. The bits and pieces you never bothered to put into words. And you can feel these extreme moments... even if you don't want to. You put these together, and you get the feel of a person. Enough to know how much you miss them... and how much you hate the person who took them away."

-Leonard Shelby, "MEMENTO"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Justin…

I asked to keep the pictures, heavy and daunting in my hand, in my memory.

I can still feel the weight of the others in the room. They're not here anymore. I can taste Brian moving inside my background, pacing, not quite pacing. I swallow. "Tell me a lie." It's the first thing out of my mouth. It is pointless and utterly lucent.

He stops pacing. I take a deep breath, my right arm numb and protesting.

Know me.

I straddle Brian's legs, my skin molding with his, heated and lethargic. I feel Brian's hand roam over my skin, his left hand holding a joint to my lips. "You're high," he states. I smile as I take a long pull, holding the pungent smoke in my lungs and floating.

"I am not high. I am simply experiencing a euphoric sense of self." I smile as Brian scoffs and takes a deep hit. My skin is crawling, tingling and sensitive. I move off of Brian, resting my left leg over his right and smoothing the hair out of my face.

We sit in silence, completely comfortable.

"Brian," I start. "Tell me a lie."

"I hate you." He doesn't hesitate to answer, clean, cut and precise. I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest.

"Lie," I state flatly. He holds the joint inches away from his mouth, the tail of smoke ascending above us. I look over at him. His breathing, his pulse, is steady and even.

"That's what you asked for. Your post-coital dialog needs work."

I hate how calm he is when he's high. I sit up, cross my legs and face him. The loft is dark, the only light streaming from the kitchen. "Tell me the truth," I challenge.

He takes his time. His answer is weighted. "Nothing is absolute," he says indifferently as he sits up, presses his lips to mine and walks out of the bedroom. I resist the urge to follow. I sit and wait.

He comes back with two bottles of water.

He knows me too well. His walking behind me is making me nervous.

I hear the clanking of glass and lean back into the sofa. I don't bother to look over at Brian as he takes his place next to me, handing me a glass and filling it with suppression.

The solution is teasing, brown and distilled. I was getting tired of Boost. "Your solution to pain relief," I say as I look into the glass.

"When I was ten years old I asked my father if he loved me," he says as he tilts his glass against his lips. My eyes catch his throat as he swallows. My heart skips a beat.

There are no words, so I don't try to speak. I stare straight ahead, letting him know I am listening. He repositions his fingers on the glass and pours himself another. I have to ask.

Three years old…

I lean into my mom as she reads, her hands holding the book open. The pages are bright and glossy. "Mommy, turn it, mommy." I pull on the page, peeking at the hidden pictures that I've seen so many times before.

"We have to finish this page first," she tells me as she kisses the top of my head. I shift in her lap.

"But, but I want to see," I pout as my fingers ghost over hers.

"Okay, okay," she laughs as she releases her hold on the page. My eyes go wide as she reads the words, words that I've heard before. "Not very patient, are we?"

"And?" He looks over at me and smirks. The presence of the detectives is still heavy in the air around us, slowly dissipating. I asked him to tell me a lie, a clear and spontaneous lie.

He chose the opposite.

"He told me the truth," he says to me as his eyes lock on mine, the distant sound of the lift starting to move, grinding through the loft. I can feel my eyes start to burn and I don't know why. I want to walk away from this.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Brian…

He smells like soap and water.

I place the heavy bottle on the coffee table and sit back, my side pressing into his. "I asked for a lie," he tells me. We both smile, hesitant and sad.

"I wanted one."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ronnie Jr. …

Seventeen and a half years old…

I press my fingers together, the filter of my cigarette giving way under my pressure. I bring the worried cigarette to my lips and breathe deep. I gently flick the tip as I drop my hand, casting the ashes to the concrete steps below.

"Hey Hermit, they didn't want you, huh?" Kevin asks as he pushes past me, brushing against my shoulder as he walks down the steps. He stops at the bottom and holds onto the railing as he looks out at the street. I don't answer as I pull the cigarette back to my lips and repeat the motions.

"Yeah, I heard that the pretty little woman of the house took one look at you and turned you down. Pretty fucked up, since I hear that 'father-knows-best' over there… has himself a taste for little boys."

A slow flick of my wrist and one long pull.

"I guess it's really no loss though," Kevin says as he pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and a lighter from his pocket, "'cause I hear that baby brother of yours, has one tight ass." He laughs, calculated and deep, as he walks away from the railing, trailing past my line of vision.

I rest my arms on my long legs, my heart slowing down.

My ears ring as the trunk of the car slams shut. I see my baby brother, not so little anymore, walking toward me. "They say you can call me and visit me whenever you want," he says as he stands in front of me.

I look into him, my pulse heavy in my fingers. "I won't call," I say, low and even. He looks up at me, his eyes wide and shining.

"I know," he says with a small smile, "that's what I told them." He looks up at me on the top step and he seems so far away. A tear falls from his eye and he shifts his weight. The sleeves of his jacket are too long.

I let out a paced stream of smoke as he presses his left foot onto the worn cement. He steps up until he is standing directly in front of me. He steps between my legs, making sure to avoid my lit cigarette, and wraps his arms around my neck.

He smells like soap and water.

I curl my arms around him, holding my cigarette away from him as I press him into my memory. I see Kevin in the distance, walking on the opposite side of the street, watching the elementary school kids as they step off the bus.

"If you ever need me," I whisper into his ear, my eyes burning somewhere deep below the surface.

He nods his head. "I know," he says as I release my hold on him and gently force him away. My hand trails over his face, wiping away the mucus and tears.

"Ryan, we have to go," his new "mother" says from the sidewalk.

He smiles at me as he turns to walk away. I stand up, taking the steps one by one. I lean against the rail as she waits for him to get in the car before closing the door. I see him wipe his tears with his shirt. She glances at me as she opens her car door, her husband starting the car.

My emotions vanish as she looks at me. I take another drag as they drive away, leaving only Kevin in my sight. My jaw clenches as I see him offer one of the young girls something. I drop the spent cigarette to the ground.

"My mom says not to talk to strangers," I hear the girl say as I cross the street and step up onto the sidewalk.

"Little young, don't you think."

"What the fuck do you want?" Kevin asks as he stands up straight. The small girl presses past him, walking quickly down the street. I feel Kevin's eyes as they fan over me.

"What do you think?" Kevin smirks as I cross my arms over my chest.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

One final slam of his head against the wall and I feel satisfied.

I slide down the brick wall opposite him, the streetlight pouring shadows into the darkened alley. It got dark so fast. I pull a cigarette from my jeans, blood and dirt staining the white paper as I bring the cigarette to my mouth.

I stare at the darkening red pool of blood as it slowly seeps into the grains of the brick, pieces of skull and bone fragmented and pressed into the masonry. Kevin's lifeless body lies across from me, his jeans pulled down around his ankles and his shirt forgotten somewhere beneath him.

I stretch my legs out and cross them at the ankle, my blood-soaked jeans heavy on my skin. I lick my lips, tasting the splatters of blood that stain my face.

It smells like rain.

I blink slowly, my fingers tightening their grip on the steering wheel. I let out the suffocating breath of air that was pooling in my throat. I've been out here for hours. The sun has set.

"Dad." I glance quickly to my left and press the button to roll down the window. "Mom said to come and get you. She said you've been out here for a long time," Michael says as he leans on the car. I see the first few drops of rain fall and I smile up at him.

"I'll be right there."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Brian…

Do you think I would let them harm you?

No, you would not… danger holds you to me.

Love holds you to me.*

The paced click of her heels as they cross the floor speeds the beat of my pulse. "Brian. I'm glad you could make it," she says as she stands next to me, a wine glass half full held high in her hand.

"Mm," I mutter, my eyes never leaving Justin as he stands in front of one of the pieces, his fingers nervously ripping the Art Explosion flyer to shreds as he holds on tightly to a glass of wine.

Lindsay's eyes follow my gaze, landing on Justin.

"How is he?" she asks in a whisper as she gives an insincere smile and 'hello' to one of the guests. I watch Justin startle as a man grazes his arm. I feel a dead heat wash through me as I try to keep myself from closing the distance between us.

"You'd have to ask him. I, unfortunately, can't see through walls," I smile at her. She gives me a look of pity, pushing me gently with her shoulder.

"Well, at least you got him to leave the loft. How long has it been since he's done that?" We move to the right, slightly. I keep my eyes on Justin.

"Long enough for him to know that the sun forms a perfectly accurate ninety degree angle on the floor at noon," I inform her. Lindsay frowns.

"Are you serious?"

I nod my head, taking the glass out of her hand and downing it quickly.

I light a cigarette and drop the lighter to the desk.

I lean to the right as Justin rummages through the desk drawer, my graphs for tomorrows meeting lighting up the screen. He favors his right arm, using it sparingly. He gasps in triumph as he slams the drawer and walks back over to the sofa, dropping to the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I'm talking to myself. He leans on the floor, between the sofa and the coffee table. I lean back, watching him.

"The sun," he mumbles.

I frown.

"Everyday, at exactly noon, it forms a perfect right angle on the floor, right here," he says as he measures the angle again. I look up at his easel across the room, sketchpads and supplies stored on the floor below.

I pick up the flyer for the Art Explosion, tapping it against the surface of the desk.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ronnie Jr. …

I stare at the piece of abstract art, glancing around the room as I take a drink from my bottle of water. I see Lindsay, across the room, talking to a tall brunet. I weigh the amount of effort it would take to add him to my collection.

I force a smile as Lindsay catches my eye. "Ron," she says as she walks over. I press a kiss to her cheek. "I thought I had missed you."

"Now Lindsay, you know I would never make an appearance and not say hello to you. How's the job going?"

"Hard and stressful," she tells me. "I love it. Your students have some amazing pieces in the exhibit."

"Yeah, and some… not so amazing," I say as I look at the piece of art I had been staring at. She hits me in the arm.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Justin…

"You're fucking amazing."

My vision leaves me as his voice floods through me. The painting in front of me is gone, vanished. My grip on the wine glass in my hand intensifies, stressing the glass and causing it to splinter. "Justin." I hear Brian somewhere, somewhere in the distance.

I can't stop shaking.

I barely feel the sting as the glass slices into my flesh, blood beading to the surface and dropping to the hardwood floor of the gallery.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ronnie Jr. …

"I'd love to stay but Alison is waiting for me. We have reservations." She smiles at me as I kiss her again.

"Okay. Have fun," she says as I walk out of the gallery.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Brian…

"Justin," I say as I move in front of him. He is shaking. "Justin, let go of the glass." He shrugs me off, pushing away from me and taking a step back. I move toward him again, my right arm reaching for his shirt.

"Don't touch me!" he yells. I grab the front of his shirt and pull him close to me as he fights me. I wrap my arm around his back, my right hand holding onto his left, his blood running down my arm.

"Bathroom," I say to Lindsay as she walks up, a scared and confused look on her face. We have caught the attention of most of the people in the gallery. She can't find her voice as she points me in the right direction.

I push us through the door and into the open space. The tile is bright and unstained. "Fuck off," I tell the young artist as he stands at the sink. He asks no questions as he shakes his hands and leaves the bathroom.

"I'm sorry," Justin says in a whisper as tears pool up in his eyes and fall down his cheeks. I lean him against the counter and bring his hand closer to me, pulling his fingers open. "I'm sorry."

"Well, we all know how you love to be the center of attention." He takes a labored breath as his body continues to shake. "Fuck, sorry," I tell him as he stares into my chest.

"I heard him."

"What?" I look at the cuts on his hand. They're not too bad.

"He was here. I, I heard him. He was here. I couldn't see him. I...."

I want to run out of the bathroom, but Justin grips my shirt and tightens his hold. I push everything out of my mind as I let him rest his forehead on me while I press some paper towels into his hand.

"I want to go home," he says. I can hear the tears in his throat.

*

Lines from, "Interview with the Vampire: The Vampire Chronicles"