"Hello, Michael."

"What the fuck do you think you're playing at?" Michael bellowed into the phone.

Justin held the phone away from his ear, preferring to hear Michael's rant from a distance. When he heard Michael finally draw in a breath, he jumped in. "Calm down," he said.

"I won't fucking calm down! I knew asking Lacy to work on Rage was a big mistake, and I was totally right."

"It wasn't a mistake," Justin protested.

"It fucking was!"

"Lacy's the best person for the job."

"Says you!"

"That's right and I do know this for a fact."

"How could you tell her that we'd include a new superhero, and a girl superhero at that? You're unbelievable!"

Justin tried to keep his temper. "I'm very believable," he said evenly. "I think it's a great idea. It will breathe new life into Rage."

"I thought that was JT's job," Michael said sarcastically.

"It still is," Justin replied not taking the bait. "But any comic book that's worth anything continues to grow and change. Sateeena will add a whole new dimension."

"For lesbians," Michael said derisively.

"A potential new market," Justin said logically. "I don't see the problem with that."

"It's teenage boys that we've been aiming at as our audience."

"And they'll still be there to read about Rage and JT."

"And Zephyr," Michael added. He hated his alter ego being left out.

"And Zephyr," Justin conceded with a sigh. "I never intended that Sateeena would take the main role in the comic. She'll need help from Rage and JT … and Zephyr. But it will give us new directions to go for stories."

"Us? I thought you were leaving."

"Michael!"

"Well, you are, abandoning our project, and then dictating what's going to happen after you've left."

'And finally we get to the crux of the problem,' Justin thought. "I'm sorry about having to quit working on Rage, but I just don't have time to do it justice. Lacy has the time and she'll do a great job."

"Great, right!" Michael said sarcastically. "She practically told me to shove Rage up my ass."

Justin chuckled and bit his tongue. That's exactly what Lacy had wanted to say. Maybe Michael wasn't so dumb after all. He got that part right. Justin cleared his throat and focused. "If Lacy's going to work with you, you can't treat her like shit, Michael. You have to respect her art and her ideas, and her."

"Who says I'm going to work with her?" Michael demanded.

"Well, you are, aren't you? Or are you stupid enough to let her go?"

"I'm not stupid," Michael protested. "I might let her do the comic," he added tentatively.

"Let her?" Justin snorted. "When I talked to her it sounded like a considerable amount of begging would be necessary to get her back."

"Begging? I'm not begging!"

"Then you can kiss Lacy goodbye."

"I … I'll talk to her," Michael conceded.

Justin smiled. Michael was coming on board. "And what about Sateeena?"

"She might be a possibility."

"I think she better be more than a possibility when you talk to Lacy," Justin warned him.

"But how can she be a superhero?" Michael whined.

"She just needs some kind of superpower, that's all."

Michael sighed. "How come Lacy gets everything she wants and I get nothing?" he asked feeling very bewildered about how their conversation had come to this. He had called to chew Justin out and tell him that he refused to work with Lacy. Now he was going to have to beg her to come back and they were discussing what superpowers her female character would possess. "I feel like I got sucker punched by you two," Michael muttered.

"That's it! Let's give her a wicked right hook, so fast that no one can see it coming." Justin felt his creative adrenaline start to flow once again. "She can knock out anybody who attacks her with her massive sucker punch." Justin giggled with enthusiasm for the idea. "And there's a sucker born every minute." He felt positively giddy. The possibilities for stories were limitless. "Her right fist will be so fast that she'll knock any opponent into next week. They'll never know what hit them."

"Just like she knocked me for a loop," Michael griped.

"She didn't do anything to you, Michael. You're still very much a major part of Rage. But you're going to have to learn to work with Lacy. There has to be give and take."

"So far I've done all the giving," Michael said indignantly.

"It'll all even out, if you give her a chance."

"I'll think about it," Michael agreed before he hung up the phone.

Justin set the phone down and let out a long breath. Michael would do the right thing. He was sure about that … well, almost sure.

 

*****
 

"What is this place?" Curtis asked hesitantly. He recognized the street where the entrance to the Drop-In Center was situated. It was near the alley where Curtis found his latest 'donor' for his cat.

"The exact name is The Jason Kemp Clinic and Drop-In Center," Hunter replied as he ushered the boy inside, quickly closing the door against the cold. Karen was busy heating up some meals that the diner had sent over. While the Liberty Diner didn't donate money, its daily donation of hearty meals was a godsend.

"Who's he?"

"Jason Kemp?"

"Yeah. He some politician or rich guy?" Curtis was suspicious.

"No," Hunter said as he pointed to a framed picture over the main information counter. It was the police artist sketch of the boy in the dumpster that Debbie had discovered, and whom she had eventually been able to put a name to so many years ago.

"His name was Jason Kemp," Hunter began.

"Was?"

"Yes, he was a boy not much older than you. He was a hustler. He was murdered, his body thrown in a dumpster near the diner. We named the clinic after him as a reminder."

"Reminder?"

"Yes, a reminder that any one of us could have ended up the same way he did."

Curtis shuddered, and not from the cold. He didn't want to end up dead in a dumpster somewhere.

"We have a few rules around here," Hunter said as he pointed to a huge poster on another wall. "First, we don't lie in this place. I don't care who or what you are or what you do outside of these walls. But in here, we speak the truth."

Curtis nodded, his grandfather always told him to be honest and God-fearing.

"We keep ourselves clean and clean up after ourselves. We don't have a housekeeper; we all take turns mopping the floors, cleaning the bathrooms, showers and kitchen. We do our own laundry."

At that point, Karen had a basketful of clean sheets that just came out of the dryer.

"This is Karen, she's another counselor who works here," Hunter said, as he grabbed an end of a sheet to help Karen fold it. "This is Karen's night to do laundry and sleep over. Karen, this is..."

"Curtis, ma'am," Curtis said softly to the older woman. Karen approached Curtis slowly but confidently, holding out her hand to shake his. "I-I really need to wash up," he said with embarrassment as he looked down at his dirty hands and clothes. Karen shook the boy's hand in spite of the dirt.

"A little dirt won't hurt me and we have plenty of soap and hot water. And I think I can rustle up some clean clothes that may fit you. You finish your talk with Hunter then you can take a nice long shower. You'll decide which of your clothes you think you want to save and we'll launder them. The rest we'll get rid of if they're torn, or donate to someone else if you've just outgrown them. That will be your choice."

"Why do you do this?" Curtis could not believe that people could possibly be this nice.

"Because, it needs to be done," Karen said simply, giving Curtis a smile and a pat on his bony shoulder.

"Curtis," Hunter said, holding out his own hand to shake, "it's nice to meet you." Hunter smiled brilliantly.

"Nice to meet you sir," Curtis shook Hunter's hand. "Mr. Hunter, are there more rules?"

"Yes and one of them is, my name is Hunter, not mister." That got a smile out of Curtis. "We have a doctor, if you need him. He volunteers here so he comes to you. If you've been abused or hurt by someone, Dr. Nick might ask to take pictures of the bruises."

"I don't have..." Curtis' eyes grew large with fear.

"It's not a rule. Dr. Nick is here for anyone who needs to speak with him or needs basic medical treatment and has no money to pay for it. We also have nurses who volunteer. But for now, let's just get you cleaned up, set up with some clothes for the night and you can take your pick of the beds."

Hunter indicated the dorm room toward the back.

"Curtis, I don't know your story and there's no rule to make you tell it to me. But we're here to help, in any way that we can. If you'd rather talk to Karen or Dr. Nick, who will stop by later, or any other counselor that works here, any one of us will hold what you tell us in the strictest of confidence. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes, sir, I mean, Hunter. But, um, even if I did something real bad, you won't go to the cops?"

"No, we won't. But I hope that when you're ready, we'll all go to the police together and clear up whatever it was that you did."

Curtis nodded, but he was afraid and Hunter knew it.

"First things first. A hot shower, clean clothes and a hot meal. And I think we even have lemon bars!" Hunter laughed as he guided the shaky boy to the showers.

 

*****
 

"Hector?"

"Yes, love." It was late; Raph and Hector were snuggled together in their nice warm bed. They had just made love, reaffirming their commitment to each other.

"Did we do the right thing today?"

"You mean going to the cops?"

"Yeah."

"I think we did. Why?"

"What if he is just a kid? A homeless kid. I don't want to send a kid to jail."

"Angel, they won't send a child to jail."

"He had a knife and he held up Brian Kinney. Don't you think Kinney will want to press charges?"

"No, I don't think he will."

Raph turned to face his lover. "What makes you say that?"

"During our forced imprisonment at Edna's Treasures, I had the chance to get to know Hunter and Nick. They're about my age, so I kind of gravitated toward them. They're really great guys. I wouldn't mind hanging out with them some time. I asked about the clinic. You remember we didn't go to any of the fundraiser events."

"Yes, but we did make a donation in the name of the vet hospital. The drop-in center is a worthy cause."

"Yes it is and that's why I wanted to know more about the history of the clinic."

"What does this have to do with Brian Kinney?"

"Apparently the clinic, the renovation of the theater and the bowling alley were Brian's dream."

"You have got to be shitting me?"

"Nope, Hunter said that Brian literally had a dream, a nightmare, actually and somehow that dream turned into the drop-in center. So you see, my angel, I don't think Brian Kinney would send that boy to jail. I think he'd find a way for Hunter to intervene. Maybe get the boy adopted or something."

"Or something," Raphael repeated wistfully.

"Raph, what is it? I know that tone."

"No, you'll kill me for thinking what I'm thinking. And you'll think I'm crazy."

"I may kill you for not telling me what you're thinking. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we should adopt the boy."

"Are you out of your mind?!"

"See, you think I'm crazy."

"No. Yes! I have no fucking clue! But we don't know the boy's circumstances. We don't know if he's dangerous, to himself or others. We don't know anything about him."

"No, we don't. But we do know that somewhere in his heart he holds a place for a little ratty looking cat, and that he'd steal to save it. That must count for something."

"Yes, it does. Ulcers. In my stomach, 'cause I know you won't let this go until the end. And it's no use arguing with you. You may be an angel but you're one fucking irritating one."

"I can't help that,; I am named for an archangel."

"Yes, I know. The sword of Raphael is the Sword of Peace, and lies at the end of the Rainbow Bridge of Faith between God and Man. I know. But you're still annoying." Hector gave his angel a searing kiss; his words were not meant to hurt.

"But you love me anyway."

"Yes, love, I do. Because you are my angel and you are so aptly named. Raphael was a healer and so are you."

The lovers grew silent, snuggling closer.

"Hector, we have so much and we have love to give. If there's a chance, would you consider adopting the boy. Or..."

"Or what?"

"If this child is beyond us, another child. Seeing Brian with his children, John and Bobby with Patrick. Michael was so sweet with JR during Christmas. Doesn't it make you wish we could have a child?"

"I have thought about it, but didn't think a baby would fit our lifestyle. I never considered an older child."

"Then please for me, think about it."

"I will. Seriously, I will. Now, time to sleep, love. You have surgery in the morning."

"How can I forget? We're neutering the Henderson's Great Dane. That dog must weigh a hundred and fifty, easy!"

"Yes, but he'll be a little lighter after the surgery," Hector quipped.

"Oh that is terrible! Say good night, love."

"Good night, love."

Raph and Hector allowed sleep to claim them.

 

*****
 

With a full belly that hadn't been that way in months, clean clothes on his freshly scrubbed skin and a soft dry bed to sleep in, Curtis was able to push aside all his troubles and worries for the night. He promised himself that he would talk to Hunter or Karen in the morning. He knew stealing was wrong and somehow he'd have to pay for his crimes. But for tonight, Curtis was going to sleep.

A couple of hours later Curtis tossed and turned, flailing around as the dream took him to places he didn't want to go.

He was in the room he shared with two other foster children at the last house he lived in. One of the other kids was having a tantrum. He was ADD and Curtis knew he had trouble focusing. They had been told to clean their room. That meant that everything had to be perfect for Mrs. Hardigan's inspection. If it wasn't, there would be big trouble.

Curtis and Johnny had put all their stuff away. Their beds were made and they were waiting for the inspection. Seven year old Murray was having one of his days. His bed was a mess and he had refused to pick up his stuff that was scattered around his bunk bed that he shared with Johnny. The two boys had tried to get Murray to clean up, but he was yelling and screaming that he didn't have to do what the old bitch told him to do. He wasn't going to be her fucking slave.

Even though Curtis had done his best to calm Murray, nothing seemed to help. He had even started to pick up some of Murray's things in order to try to keep the peace. He knew the consequences of not having a tidy room when the inspection was called. Murray had started screaming at Curtis, telling him not to touch his fucking things, and then had accused Curtis of trying to steal his belongings.

That's when Mrs. Hardigan appeared. She looked like someone's grandmother, but that's where any resemblance to a normal human being ended. She was the most rigid control freak that Curtis had ever seen. Things had to her way and just so, or there was hell to pay. Curtis had experienced that hell enough times to know that he didn't want to experience it again.

"Why is this room not finished?" Mrs. Hardigan demanded when she stepped through the door.

Murray stopped screaming and looked at her with fear. He crouched down in his messy bed hoping she wouldn't notice him. Mrs. Hardigan's eyes saw everything.

"This is totally unacceptable," she said. "You'll all have to be punished." She pulled the leather belt out from behind her back. She always seemed to have it with her and she didn't hesitate to use it.

Curtis remembered the next few minutes very well. He tried not to cry. He had felt the sting of that belt several times over the few months he was with the Hardigans. He knew he couldn't take anymore. He stood up tall and headed for the door of the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" she screamed at him. "Get back here!"

Curtis kept walking. He didn't know where he was going to go, but he knew he couldn't stand this place any longer. He heard Murray scream as the belt connected with some part of his body. Curtis winced knowing he should do something to help the little boy, but what could he do? He could barely look after himself.

He had almost reached the front door of the house when he heard Mrs. Hardigan yelling. He stopped and turned around only to find her son coming down the hall after him. Spike, as he liked to be called, was maybe thirty years old, and he was a sadistic son of a bitch. Curtis ran to the front door, but before he could open it, Spike had him. Spike slammed him against the door … hard. It knocked the breath out of Curtis.

"You fucking little nigger!" Spike spit at him. "I'll show you who's the fucking boss around here … and it's not you." Spike's right hand connected with Curtis' face. He saw stars and then everything went black.

Curtis' eyes opened. He felt himself shaking. He rubbed his jaw at the old memory. He hated the fucking closet. His mind recalled what had happened following that incident with Spike.

When he had woken up some time later, he was in the closet that they used to punish the kids. The door was locked and there was only a sliver of light from under the door. Curtis groaned and rubbed his jaw gingerly. He wondered if it was broken. It hurt a lot.

The next three or four days Curtis had spent in that closet. He was given no food or water and no one came to speak to him. He sat in his own filth, sure that he was going to die in there. When they finally let him out he was sick to his stomach and beaten down. He knew at that moment that he had to get out of there or die.

Once he was released from his prison, they had fed him something finally, and he had been sent back to school the following day. The bruise on his jaw was hardly visible on his dark skin. No one would know what had happened. He never went back to the Hardigans after school that day. That was the beginning of his months on the streets.

It hadn't been much fun. There were crazy people on the streets, people who wanted to hurt you, and rob you and beat you up. But he had managed to survive. He could do it again, when these people who had given him this bed, tried to put him back in foster care … or jail. He was prepared to run. He could survive, and he would, in spite of everything that had been done to him. He didn't know what the future held, but he was a survivor.

He turned over and fell into a deep sleep.