Eternal Triangle

Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Justin quietly let himself into the apartment, hoping he wouldn't wake up Daphne. She had worked the late shift at the hospital last night and he knew she needed her rest. He planned to slip into the shower, dress and leave without disturbing his friend.

Flipping on the overhead light, his eyes landed on a petite figure sitting on the couch, arms crossed and an angry expression on her pretty face. 'Shit.'

"Umm, morning Daph. Everything okay?"

"No, you asshole, everything is not okay. Do you have any idea how worried I've been? Last thing you told me was you were working late, then you'd be home. When I got here at five this morning, you weren't home and…" she shot a pointed look at his cell phone, innocently lying on the coffee table, "you left your blasted phone at home, again, and you weren't answering at work."

Justin silently stood in the doorway, allowing her to vent. When she paused for breath, he meekly said, "Sorry, Daph. I didn't think. I was at work until ten, then Brian…"

"I should have known he was involved!" Daphne got up from the couch and stomped over to stand in front of her best friend. She glared up at him and snarled, "Listen. I don't care if you want to go over to the loft and fuck like bunnies. I just don't want to wonder if you're all right, you little creep."

Smiling apologetically, Justin pulled her into his arms, "I am sorry, Daph. I promise I'll do better next time." He felt her slowly relax then added, "You'll probably be glad to hear this part. I'm moving back into the loft today."

The small brunette raised her head, a concerned look on her face. "Do you think that's a good idea, Jus? You and Brian have been having so many problems lately, and with you not sleeping…"

The blond tenderly kissed her cheek then giving her a squeeze, released her and went to flop down on the couch. "Brian and I talked a bit, both last night and this morning. He agreed with me that he needs to back away from Michael-in fact, he's going to talk to him today." Justin smiled and patted the cushion next to him invitingly.

Daphne sighed and sat down next to Justin. "What about the dreams? You know you're exhausted and dealing with Brian is a challenge even when you're at your best."

Justin looked down at his hands, confessing, "Daph, something's different this time. I don't know how to explain it. I just have this feeling…" He twisted his fingers together in his lap, unsure how to get his point across. "I have this weird feeling that this is important to Brian and I…" He glanced over at Daphne, his blue eyes misted with tears, "The dreams are scaring me and everything seems all twisted together-Brian, Michael, my dreams. I don't know what to do."

Slipping a comforting arm around his waist, Daphne asked, "Have you talked to Brian about them yet?"

"Shit no. Can you imagine? 'Umm, Brian-I've been having these strange dreams about other guys' relationships-oh, and they're set in the past!' Fuck, he'd probably ask me what kinda shit I'm on."

"Well then, what are you going to do?" Daphne asked impatiently.

"I'm going to go see Mysterious Marilyn this afternoon-hopefully she can give me some ideas why I'm having these dreams. I'm going to take my journal for her to read. I'm getting desperate here."

"Well, sweetie, good luck. I hope she can help." Daphne pecked him on the lips then, yawning largely, got up and walked to the hallway, "I'm going to sleep now, since someone worried me so much I couldn't sleep earlier!" She wriggled her fingers at Justin as she wandered down the hall toward her bed.

Justin heaved himself off the couch and headed for the bathroom. He quickly showered and changed clothes, then picked up his dream journal and shoved it into his bag. He would pick up his other stuff later, hopefully after he got some answers.

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Brian and Michael exited the theater, laughing and shoving each other as if they were still in high school. "That movie sucked. The special effects… God, they were horrible!" Michael laughed up at his friend.

Brian punched Michael's shoulder, snickering, "Just remember, asshole, you picked out the damn thing. Geeze, Mikey, choosing a movie because the lead actor wears tights-you really are pathetic." Brian shook his head-the movie had been awful and the leading man needed to hit the gym occasionally if he wanted to be on the big screen in such a skimpy outfit. His ass-yuck.

"You hungry? Want to hit the diner?" Michael was having a great time and wanted to make the day last.

Brian nodded, it was time for his discussion with Mikey and if Deb was at the diner, she could help him if Michael got too emotional. "Sure, Mikey. I could use a coffee, at least. Maybe grab a lemon square while we're at it, too."

They climbed into the 'Vette and Brian quickly drove to Liberty Avenue. As he pulled into a parking space, he casually stated, "Today has been a good day, huh Mikey? Two best friends out goofing around."

Michael glowed as he got out of the car, "Just like old times, Brian. I only wish…" He wrapped his arm around Brian's middle as they entered the diner. "I only wish we could do this all the time."

Drawing a breath deep into his lungs, Brian braced himself to try to let his friend down gently, "Mikey, even best friends need a life separate from each other. They have to have other friends, a… partner-things to round out their lives."

Michael asked anxiously, "What do you mean, Brian?" He didn't like the direction the conversation was turning. He gestured to an empty booth and the two men sat down, waving at Debbie as she hurried by.

Looking into the deep brown eyes of his friend, Brian confirmed Michael's worst fears, "Ever since Ben's death, I've tried to be there for you. I've spent nearly every free moment I've had with you, Mikey. It's almost cost me my… relationship with Justin. I want… no, that's the wrong word. I need to be with him more. I've missed him, Mikey. The past few months-I almost lost him because of… well, not because of you per se, but because of the time you and I've spent together."

Michael could feel his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. This was worse than Ben's death. Ben hadn't chosen to leave him-Brian was. Brian was rejecting him for a fucking trick who stayed way too long. He started to speak as his mom walked up, "Brian…"

"So boys, what'll ya have today?" Deb glanced between the two men and thought, 'Uh oh, something's going on. Brian looks like he's ready to bolt and Michael's on the verge of a nervous breakdown.' She shoved Brian over in the seat and plopped herself down, asking, "What the fuck is going on? And don't you fucking lie to me, either."

Michael jumped out of the booth, muttering something about the restroom. Deb watched him hurry away, then turned to Brian, an eyebrow raised in a silent question.

Brian knew he needed her on his side, so he answered quietly, "I just told him I needed to back off for a while, spend more time with Justin." The brunet shook his head sadly, "I don't think he's dealing with it well, Deb. I suspect…"

Eying him sympathetically, the redhead continued for him, "You suspect he's fallen in love with you again." When Brian nodded unhappily, she leaned over and bussed him tenderly on the cheek. "You're a good man, Brian Kinney, no matter what I've said in the past."

Brian chuckled reluctantly, "Gee thanks, Deb. I think."

Keeping a watchful eye on the bathroom door to make sure Michael didn't overhear the next part, she said, "You've been there for him when he needed you, both you and Justin. It's not your fault he's allowed his feelings to develop into something more." She proudly looked at the man she helped raise and emphasized, "You've done all you can for him. Now, you need to concentrate on Sunshine. The two of you have something special-don't fuck it up, not even for someone as dear to you as Michael."

Brian worriedly rolled his lips inward, saying, "Deb, this might be worse than Ben dying. Mikey's gonna think I'm choosing Justin over him."

"You should, Brian." She laughed at his surprised look, "I may be his mother, but I love all my little lost boys. I don't want one to be happy at the cost of two others' unhappiness. Maybe if you step out of the picture for a while, he will realize his dream of happily-ever-after with you isn't going to happen and he will start looking for someone new."

"I only want him to be happy, but…"

"I know, sweetie. You love him, but you're in love with Sunshine." When the bathroom door opened, she quickly added, "It will all work out, Brian. You'll see." Deb stood up and went over to her son, giving him a swift hug.

Michael came back to the booth and stood there, nervously wringing his hands, "Brian, umm, I'm not feeling too good. I'm gonna go home, maybe lay down for a while. I'll talk to you later." He turned and rapidly left the diner, not giving Brian a chance to respond.

Brian sat in the booth alone, silently drinking his coffee. He had made his choice-now he could only watch as his long-term friendship crashed about his head, unable to do anything to salvage it.

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Justin finally tracked down Marilyn's tiny little shop, located several blocks off Liberty Avenue. He opened the door and entered, looking around curiously. There was a small round table in one corner, covered with a fringed tablecloth. Two chairs were pulled up next to it and a large crystal ball was resting in the middle. Multiple crystals were hanging in the window, fracturing the sunlight that streamed in into a thousand tiny specks of light. Soft music played in the background and the scent of sandalwood hung heavily in the air.

"Umm, hello? Anyone here?"

A voice rang out from the back, "You're late."

Justin looked around the empty shop-Marilyn must be expecting someone. "I'm looking for Mysterious Marilyn. If you're busy, I can come back later," he called out.

The beaded curtain separating the backroom from the front parted and Marilyn entered, dressed exactly as Justin would expect a gypsy fortuneteller to be clad. She was wearing a full, gathered skirt, peasant blouse and had a scarf covering her curly hair. Bangle bracelets clinked on both wrists as she moved, waving him toward the table. "Justin Taylor. I was expecting you this morning. You're late."

"You were… expecting me?" Justin hesitantly sat in one of the chairs, watching as Marilyn gracefully arranged her skirts about herself.

"Of course. What kind of psychic would I be if I didn't know you were coming? Really." She shook her head at Justin's ignorance, then met his eyes, saying, "You've been having dreams that are bothering you and you want me to help you, right?" She held out her hand and asked, "May I see your journal? It may take me a while to look through it."

Justin dug his journal out of his bag and handed it to her, "I guess you're not surprised by any of this, huh?"

The drag queen flipped through the journal, not really reading it, then laid it down on the table. She leaned back and tilted her head, hoop earrings quivering with her movement. Dark eyes studied him for a minute and then she smiled. "Young Justin, your artwork-have you ever wondered where your talent comes from?" When a confused Justin shook his head, she continued, "You possess what I call an old soul. You've been developing your artistic talent through the centuries-and you realize this, down deep."

"Okay, I don't understand. What are you saying?"

"Justin, I know you're not a dumb blond. You know what I'm talking about-your dreams. They're not really dreams, more like memories."

Frowning in concentration, Justin tried to follow what she was saying, "You're trying to tell me that these guys I've been dreaming about-that they're me, or I'm them-whatever." At her nod of encouragement he continued, "Let me guess, the guys I've been with-they're supposed to be Brian, right? And we're connected in some strange mystical manner, throughout time. No fucking way. This is too weird." Justin could just see himself explaining that one to his cynical lover. 'Listen to this, Brian. You know that night we met under the streetlamp? Well, guess what-it seems it was meant to be-you know, destiny, like we're soul mates, or something.' Oh yeah, that would go over well.

Marilyn sighed in exasperation; she was tired of people dismissing the truth without really thinking about it. Deciding to let the young man reflect on what she said, she picked up his diary and opened it. "I'm going to look through this for a few minutes. Why don't you make yourself comfortable? There is soda in the fridge in the back-feel free to get some." She settled herself into her chair and began reading.

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March 9, 1778-Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Something was trying to land on his face. Josiah swatted at it crossly and rolled over, snuggling deeper into the feather bed. He was enjoying the sated feeling of his body from last night's passionate lovemaking. The irritation was now focused on his ear and Josiah blearily opened his eyes, to see his lover leaning over him.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead."

Josiah drowsily reached up and pulled Brendon down to him, quickly becoming lost in their kiss. The older man pulled away and ran his finger across the dewy skin on Josiah's cheek. "Come on, love, it's time you were out of bed."

"What time is it?" The young blond sat up in the bed, scooting backward until he was braced against the headboard. Slowly becoming aware of his surroundings, he could see that his lover was completely dressed. As the room gradually lightened in the pre-dawn glow, Josiah noticed a pair of saddlebags lying near the door, a cape thrown carelessly across them.

"Just a little before sunrise. I need to leave for Boston soon-I have a long ride ahead of me." Brendon moved off the bed once he realized his young lover was awake. He went over to the roll-top desk and sorted through the parchments lying there, selecting a few and stuffing them into his satchel.

Josiah frowned; he didn't like the thought of Brendon being gone for the three weeks his trip would take. They had only been lovers for a couple of months and the time spent apart would seem like an eternity. He climbed out of the warm bed, moving across the frigid room until he stood in front of Brendon.

"You still aren't going to let me go with you, are you?" It wasn't really a question-Brendon had been firm about the decision. The countryside was crawling with redcoats and the printer did not want to endanger Josiah by taking him with him.

Brendon smiled down at the young blond, who stood shivering in the cold morning air. He pulled Josiah flush against his body, hoping to share some of his own warmth, "No, love. It's too dangerous. The British are still looking for me, and if I'm captured…"

Josiah pressed closer, enjoying the slight rasp of wool against his bare skin. "Don't say that, please. I don't want to think about something happening to you."

"Me either, love, which is why you are staying safely here in Philadelphia, with your family." Brendon gestured to his full satchel and continued, "I'm carrying paperwork which, if it falls into the wrong hands, will guarantee me a trip to the gallows. If the worst should happen and you were with me… I couldn't stand to see you in danger."

The blond man shivered again, only this time from fear, not the cold. "Promise me… promise me you'll stay safe-that you will come back to me."

"I can only promise that I will try." Brendon lowered his mouth to his lover's full lips, running his tongue lightly across them until they parted. Their tongues danced together, trying to capture each delicious taste in their memories before they parted. Brendon pulled away panting and leaned his forehead against the younger man's. "I need to go, love."

Josiah nodded and moved away from his lover's firm body. He reached over and pulled the quilt from the bed, wrapping himself tightly in its lingering warmth. The young man raised his chin, determined not to cry while his lover was still here. "Alright. Be careful and remember, I'll be waiting here for you."

"I won't forget." Brendon picked up his cape and placed it across his shoulders then grabbed his saddlebags and satchel. With one last affectionate look at the young man standing bravely in the middle of the room, he turned and made his way down the stairs and out of the small house.

Josiah went to stand by the window, watching as the brunet entered the stable then returned, leading a large gray stallion. He quickly threw his saddlebags across the horse's rump and mounted. Horse and rider soon disappeared down the narrow country lane.

He needed to get out of here, now-he couldn't stand the pain of staying in his lover's home without him. Josiah quickly dressed and went downstairs to the parlor. He was pulling on his boots when the front door swung open. He glanced up hopefully-maybe Brendon had changed his mind about taking him on the trip-only to sigh unhappily at the sight of his lover's best friend entering the room.

Matthias Newhall had taken an instant dislike to the young apprentice, and nothing Josiah tried seemed to help. The man scowled at Josiah, snarling, "What the hell are you doing here? Brendon's gone-so should you be."

Josiah raised his eyebrows at the man's blatant attack-his animosity had never been out in the open before. Of course, this was the first time they had been together without the buffer of Brendon's presence. He coolly said, "Yes, I'm aware that Brendon's not here. In fact, he just left. I'm getting ready to leave as well. What are you doing here?"

"He's my best friend-he asked me to watch the house for him in his absence." Matthias wanted the young man to leave-now.

"You're very diligent in your obligations, Matthias. He's been gone, what, ten minutes at most? I'm impressed." Josiah stood and pulled on his coat over his waistcoat. He grabbed his overcoat and opened the door, leaving without a word to the other man.

Matthias wandered through the small house, idly touching Brendon's things and imagining himself living there with the outspoken printer. Josiah's arrival into Brendon's life had smashed Matthias' hopes of becoming anything more than a friend to the man he loved. He restlessly went up the stairs, thinking he needed to get rid of the young blond. Rummaging through the roll-top desk in the bedroom, he came across some important looking papers. He smiled as he read them-yes, these would be perfect. Shoving them into his pocket, he quickly left the house.

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March 21, 2007-Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Marilyn looked up from the diary, thinking about the dream. Justin had been very detailed in his description-it must be the artist's eye for detail. She smiled as she watched the young man, deeply engrossed in the sketchpad in front of him. Turning the page in the journal, the psychic resumed reading.

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September 30, 1584-Tremont Estate-outside London, England

Blaise nestled his face into the crook of his lover's neck, inhaling deeply the beloved scent of the man. He began nibbling on the soft skin there, smiling as the body beneath him began to stir, "Good morning, lover."

Blue eyes blinked groggily up at him as Jerome's face softened with tenderness, "Morning to you too, Blaise." The young man grinned up into the hazel eyes-he had never been happier in his young life. Blaise had arranged for him to stay at the cottage, hidden away on the Earl of Tremont's estate. He had been living there for three months, visited only by his lover.

Jerome had been astonished by Blaise's actions on the first day in the cottage. When they arrived, Blaise had prepared some food for the youth to eat while Jerome washed up. As the young man gingerly pulled his shirt from his body, he heard a low growl emanate from the man.

Looking up in surprise, he saw the gamekeeper staring at his exposed torso. Quickly realizing what had upset the man, Jerome reached for his shirt, intending to put it back on. A gentle hand placed on top of his own stopped him. "Don't."

Blaise eyed the pale body that was covered with fading yellow and green bruises. He reached out and lightly touched one, asking, "Do they still hurt?"

Jerome smiled faintly-the beating from his father hadn't been the worst he had ever received. "Not really. I've had worse." The young artist watched in amazement as Blaise walked over to a cabinet, retrieved a pot of salve and returned to gently rub it into the bruises.

Hazel eyes met blue, as Blaise softly promised, "Never again." Blaise quietly coaxed the story from the young man, learning that his father disapproved of the one thing he cared about-his art. He studied the shyly presented sketchbook, amazed at the skill the youth displayed. He knew that given the opportunity, the young artist could go far in court.

"Jerome, who is your father?"

Jerome bit his lip and looked out the window, undecided. He felt cool fingers wrap around his chin, pulling his face around to meet Blaise's questioning expression. "Tell me."

"Christopher Tailor, Count Schillingswood."

Blaise's eyes narrowed in anger. He knew the man-a petty, arrogant man who hung about the fringe of Queen Elizabeth's court, trying to establish powerful connections. He was a minor irritant in the Earl's life-until now, that is. Tremont did not believe parents had an inherent right to beat their children, a common habit among the nobility. For some reason, he felt protective of the young blond and would ensure his safety.

Blaise had proposed to Jerome that he live in the cottage for a while. They quickly established a satisfying routine-Blaise would visit every couple of days, bringing food, art supplies and clean clothing. Occasionally, he would bring a book with him, saying he had pilfered it from the Earl's library. Jerome took special care of the volumes, realizing that they were most likely expensive and not wanting his lover to get in trouble with the volatile nobleman.

They became lovers on Blaise's third visit to the small cottage. They had eaten dinner and were sitting side by side, as Jerome softly read from a book of poetry the gamekeeper had brought. Blaise sat watching the expressive face of the blond as he spoke, then gently cupped his hand around his chin, pulling him close for a kiss.

The passion that exploded between the two men startled them both. Jerome was a virgin and although Tremont had had many affairs before, he had never felt such an overwhelming craving with any other man. The larger man swept Jerome up in his arms, carrying him to the bed, where he tenderly initiated the blond in the act of love.

"What are you thinking about so hard?" Blaise teased the sleepy man.

"Hmm, nothing much. Can you stay today?" Jerome knew that his lover had many responsibilities on the Earl's estate and often couldn't spend the whole day with him. The youth climbed out of bed and stretched lazily, reaching his arms high into the air.

Blaise stood up and began dressing. "Unfortunately not." He watched his lover's muscles flex and move as he straightened his body, working out the kinks from the night's sleep. "Jerome…" He paused when he heard hoof beats outside the cottage. Moving quickly, he grabbed his shirt and threw it over his lover's head. He did not intend to share the pale beauty with anyone else. The shirt fluttered to cover the boy's rump just as the door flew open.

Sir Morgan Norwich burst into the small room, exclaiming, "Tremont…" He stopped; surprised to see the youth standing near his best friend. "Umm, sorry to interrupt, but you're needed at court. Her Majesty sent a messenger to you this morning-we've been looking for you ever since."

Tremont did not look at his friend-he was watching his lover's stunned expression. "Out-now, Morgan." The man quietly left the cottage, closing the door behind him. Blaise took a step forward-Jerome stepped back, away from the man he thought he had known but suddenly didn't.

"Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong." Blaise softly stated, hoping to convince the youth of his sincerity.

"You have no idea what I'm thinking-feeling, right now. Oh God, I trusted you… I told you everything about myself…" Tears were pouring down the pale cheeks, unchecked.

"And I value every piece of knowledge you've shared with me. Jerome, I was going to tell you-but after I found out what your father had done, I just…" The Earl raked his fingers through his tousled hair, frustrated with his inability to put his thoughts into words. He stepped forward once again, relieved to note that the blond stayed still. He started over, "Jerome, I've never felt this way before… never felt this overpowering urge to protect someone… to love them…"

Jerome's intense blue eyes studied the man's face, searching for something… anything that would convince him that he was telling the truth. Seeing the honesty reflecting out of the hazel eyes, he melted into the open arms of his lover, sobbing quietly. The Earl had said he cared for him… that he loved him…

Tremont held the trembling body close to his own, silently reaching a decision. He pulled away slightly, just enough to look down into the tear-stained face below him. "I want you to get dressed. I'm through with hiding you-we're going into London today, where I'm going to show off my beautiful lover to the court."

"What about my father?"

"You're not to worry about him-my men and I will protect you. Now, get dressed." He lightly smacked the rounded ass and moved away to finish dressing. The boy laughed and hurried into his own clothes. Tremont smiled faintly at the sight of the sturdy but plain attire-he would enjoy dressing his beautiful boy in silk and velvet-and enjoy undressing him, as well.

Sir Morgan paced around the small yard in front of the cottage. He had noticed his friend's recent preoccupation, but hadn't realized what the source was. He now knew-the man he loved had found a lover. He growled with frustration-if the blond whelp stayed around, it would ruin all of his own hopes and dreams. He stared as the Earl came out of the door, an arm wrapped possessively around the slight body of the boy. He closed his eyes, vowing to somehow rectify the situation-there was no way he would allow this… upstart to come between him and the man he wanted. He could be patient-he would win, one day.

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March 21, 2007-Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Marilyn slowly closed the journal, tapping it lightly with a long red fingernail. Yes, the young artist presently sketching in her shop and his infamous lover would need her assistance-their very survival depended on it. She coughed slightly, getting Justin's attention. "Do you mind if I keep this overnight? I would like to finish reading it."

Justin shrugged, he didn't mind. "Do you have any ideas about the dreams?"

The flamboyant psychic studied the questioning air of the young man, trying to decide how much she would be allowed to disclose. "Yes, I do. First, I have a few questions. How long have you and Brian Kinney been together?"

"Which time?" Justin laughed wryly-he and Brian had broken up and gotten back several times in their explosive relationship. The longest separations had been the four months he had been with Ethan and the seven months he spent in Los Angeles-although they hadn't really broken up then. "We've been together about seven years, give or take a few months."

Marilyn nodded thoughtfully, "The beginning-it was rocky, wasn't it? Then things gradually smoothed out until now, when they're becoming difficult again." When Justin agreed with her assessment, she gestured at the journal and continued, "Your past relationships with Brian-there was a obstacle there almost from the start. That's why none of them lasted-the one was less than a year, the other about three years."

The drag queen paused-she was only allowed to guide the lovers, not reveal all the nearby dangers. "Something-call it a cosmic interference, if you will-caused problems at the beginning of your present relationship. Then something shifted and you and Brian got along better." She frowned slightly and said, "It seems as if the obstacle from the beginning has reinserted itself into your lives-causing friction and tension between the two of you."

Justin smirked-he was well aware of what was causing their current problems. Michael Novotny.

Marilyn leaned forward in her chair, "Justin, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Each of us-our lives are, to put it simply, a circle. Each soul has a path it is meant to follow. When something happens to break that circle or throw us off the path, we are sometimes allowed a second, or in some cases, a third attempt to complete the cycle. The way I see it, you and Brian have had two chances already-this is your last chance."

Justin frowned at the psychic's words-he didn't like the sound of them. "What do you mean, last chance?"

"When a soul completes its journey, it arrives in heaven, paradise, nirvana-whatever you want to call it. If the journey isn't finished, the soul is lost in chaos."

"Chaos, huh?" Justin got up from his chair, closing his sketchpad and putting it back in his bag. He wasn't sure if he believed everything Marilyn had told him, but she had certainly given him many things to think about. "Umm, I need time to consider everything you've told me, okay? Can I come back, maybe on Monday?" When the drag queen nodded, he walked over to the door, then paused and glanced back at the woman sitting regally in her chair, "You're serious about all this, aren't you?"

"As serious as I can be. It's a matter of life or death."

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Michael slumped down on the couch in his darkened apartment, sobbing quietly into the pillow he clutched to his chest. He had been devastated by Brian's announcement at the diner-he understood that Brian meant there was no chance for them to ever be together in the way Michael so desperately wanted. Brian had chosen Justin over him.

Sitting up straight, the distraught man shook his head. No, he couldn't just give up. He just knew that if Justin were gone, Brian would return his love. Wiping the tears streaking his face with the back of his hand, he got up and went over to his late husband's desk. He rifled through the papers there, looking for the receipt for a cabin the two of them had stayed at during one of their vacations. He sniffled a bit when he found it, then picked up the phone.

"Blue Mountain Rentals. How may I help you?"

"Hello, my name is Michael Novotny. I'm interested in renting one of your cabins- No, a one bedroom is fine- I need it for a month- You have one free starting March 25th- Great, I'll take it. My credit card number is-"

Hanging up slowly, he looked about the room. He still had a number of things he needed to finalize before he could put his plan in motion. Michael resolutely stood up and moved toward his bedroom. There was no time to waste.

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