Kapitel - 1. Chapter 1

Abschnitt 1

The different possible states were clearly defined in his thoughts. The transitions between them lucid. He tried to compile the table for the mapping function in order to replace the non-deterministic machine with a deterministic one. The gentle swaying of the carriage helped him concentrate. But concentrate was the wrong word; he was part of the system that he considered. There was no other world for him in this moment. The rain fell against the window next to him and the carriage rocked on the iron track back and forth. He moved to the next state, trying not to forget the table he had already constructed in his head. It was a simple question he had asked himself - a finite machine that would recognize his initials in a text, separated with periods, spaces or next to each other. He smiled at his initial inclusion of a ε mantissa - it was totally unnecessary. He had only done so, because he could do it. He loved exercising his mind. The new state was mapped out in his head. He stared out of the window and saw nothing; the stimulation his eyes received from the lights outside was as nothing compared with the contemplation of the machine.

The train he was in slowed down and stopped. The doors to his carriage opened, letting in the wind and the rain. He moved places, so that he could see the people getting on. A small, gaunt figure wearing dark clothes got on in the middle of the carriage. It sat down in the first seat it could find and turned its head to stare out the window. A couple of youths entered through the far door. The doors closed slowly and jerkily, replacing Matt in the cocoon of comparative stillness. Before the train started he could hear the walkman of one of the figures at the far end of the train, tinny and metallic in the silence. The train started with a jolt, and the whining of the motors under the floor drowned out the sharp, insubstantial sound. Matt went back to considering the machine he had built. He checked through to see if his memory of the mapping function was correct. Satisfied with his work up to that moment he started considering the next state. Which deterministic states were actually possible? He plotted the course of the machine, marking each occurring state in his mind. Having explicitly created this subset he continued his thoughts.

There was a noise behind him. He glanced around and the mapping function in his head transformed itself into two hooded figures. The way the figures looked at the floor in front of them ripped him from his fantasy to a reality he had rarely experienced before. There was violence here and pain, they seemed to warp the world. Outside of the train, the rest of the city was normal, but here it was as if a rip had opened up, sucking the warmth from his surroundings and his stomach, distorting his consciousness, making the interior of the carriage surreal. The hooded figures were kicking something. A different program switched itself on automatically in his head. He had to try to stop this. He stood up. There was a pitiful figure on the floor in the door well. It didn't move except when it was kicked. It lay there innocent and defiled. Matt did not think, he acted.

He ran towards the men and threw himself on them. He was lucky. At that moment the train rounded a sharp corner. His impact and the change of direction was enough to throw the masked figures off-balance. One of them fell unfavorably, hitting his head on the metal seat frame. The other tripped over the first and landed with his assailant on top of him hard on the wooden floor. Matt raised his hand. The hand was shaking, but it still hit on target, impacting on the temple of the hooded man.

The first figure tried to pull himself back up slowly, but his balance failed him. Instead he inched along the carriage, pushing himself and sliding on his dirty, torn jeans away from his assailant. Matt crouched still next to the body in the door well. He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and he turned his head round. The figure pulled itself slowly further together, adopting a tight fetal position.

The train got slower. Matt again became aware of the motion of the carriage, of the noise of the wheels on the breaks in the track, necessary to allow the metal lengths to contract and expand according to changes in temperature.

'Just fuck off!' he shouted. The windows became bright as the train pulled into a station. One of the hooded figures reached up and managed to press the button to open the doors. The train stopped with its customary judder and squealing brakes. They left the train. The door next to Matt opened. He looked up directly into the eyes of a short, balding, overweight man. Out of breath, the man pulled back startled from the door and disappeared. The train stood in the station. Cold air and rain washed in. Matt kept his senses alert, looking out for the men, in case they came back. He couldn't hear anything above the lashing rain on the windows. Slowly the doors shut. He looked around. They were alone in this carriage.

Slowly the world returned to almost normal. The train jolted into life, leapt a couple of meters forwards, stopped and then started again. Matt looked down. The figure had pulled itself even closer together. It looked more like an abused and beaten dog than a person. He laid a hand on the shoulder of its old black leather jacket. It didn't move. Long, dark hair fell over its face. Matt pushed the hair away. A piercing blue eye stared up at him from the face of a teenage boy.

'Are you okay?'

The rain hammered against the glass, the face didn't move, the eye stared unblinkingly and penetratingly up at him.

'Do you want me to call a doctor or an ambulance?'

Slowly the boy shook his head. His stare bored a hole in Matt.

'What's your name?'

There was no reply. Matt waited, being jostled by the movement of the train. He laid his hand back on the shoulder and sat down cross-legged next to the boy. Slowly the eye closed.

'Yeah, don't mention it' said Matt, too quietly for the boy to hear. He held the boys shoulder, soothed by the rain and the gentle rocking of the carriage. For two minutes, he sat next to the huddled form, giving himself time to return to normal. The water ran down the windows, blurring the lights from the city below. There was another sound, so quiet he could just barely discern it. Every now and then, when the movement of the train became quieter he heard music. Matt couldn't locate the source. He looked around the carriage, straining his ears. It seemed to get clearer when he approached the figure next to him on the floor. He lowered his ear to the boy's face. His eyes were closed. He was humming.

Matt didn't recognise the music; it seemed to be made of random notes and jumps. There was no text, no dynamic. However, the more he listened to it, the more real his world seemed to become. The boy, obviously in great pain, lay on his side, hugging his knees to his body and hummed. He was singing himself a lullaby. Matt listened to it, and nothing else seemed to matter.

Once more, the train started to slow down. The boy moved his right arm and held onto the rail next to the door. He unfurled his body and tried to pull himself up. Matt stood up and helped him. The boy was thin. He twitched when Matt touched him.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. Do you need to get off here?'

The boy did not answer. Matt looked at him, now that he was standing. He wasn't a boy after all, but a young man. He was probably in his early twenties, thin, weak, and poor. The train stopped and the doors opened slowly. The young man uncertainly placed a foot on the platform and stepped out.

'Are you going to be okay?'

He didn't reply, not that Matt was expecting a reply by this stage, but started shuffling away. Through the sheets of rain Matt saw him stop and fall to the ground. Matt ran to his seat, picked up his backpack and jumped out of the doors while they were closing. He was wet through before he reached the figure on the floor. The figure had vomited. Again, he helped him up, placing an arm around his body and stabilizing him.

'Let me bring you home. Where do you live?'

For a long time he didn't respond. Then he raised a hand and pointed to the buildings to the west of the subway stop. Slowly they started walking.

It was a bad area, as bad as its reputation. Despite the efforts in the 90s to keep crime down and to rejuvenate the districts, this area had only benefited superficially. Some of the buildings were painted in bright, gaudy colours, but they were rotten inside. The rain had its good side, washing the air clean to make it breathable. More importantly, it meant that the gangs were inside, safely tucked away in the warmth and the dry.

'I'm Matt by the way.'

They carried on walking. Eventually they reached a nondescript broken-down house in a long-row of nondescript broken-down houses. The boy/man reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. He winced as he tried to put the key in the lock. Matt took the key off him.

'Did they hurt your hand?'

Matt put the key in the lock and turned it. The door opened half way and started scraping along the floor. The corridor was almost as wet as the road outside. He held the key out for the other to take, but he didn't react. Matt reached for the light switch, nothing happened. They entered the dark building. They passed a stairway leading upwards and other doors. They reached the end of the corridor. The boy/man opened the door to his right. There was perfect darkness behind the door. Behind them a door opened and light shone out into the corridor. Matt turned around.

A fat man wearing a string vest, underwear and a black pair of socks looked out. He looked at the two figures, snorted and went back into his room, slamming the door behind him and returning them to darkness. The sound reverberated metallic.

Suddenly a bright light appeared in front of them, attacking Matt's eyes. It was a single light bulb, hanging down naked from the fitting in the ceiling. Wooden steps led downwards. There was an old metal handrail. Matt saw the boy/man reach out a hand to grasp the rail, but he pulled his hand back before it could touch the metal. The hand. Twenty-seven bones in the adult human, all cartilaginous in a baby. During development, ossification occurs slowly, the last step being the joining of the base to the shaft of the bones in the phalanges at around the twentieth year. The connection of the bones to the different muscle groups located in the forearm results in an interplay causing various movement, apart from the thumb, which is controlled by five fully separate muscles. Matt did not know any of this, but he had seen the hand of the person he was supporting. He had never seen such a delicate hand in his life.

They started slowly down the stairs. The wooden boards creaked with each step. They left the light behind them and their bodies cast long shadows into the cellar. They navigated through the old broken bicycles, discarded prams and boxes and reached a door. The boy/man reached into his pocket a second time and pulled a different key out. He placed the key in his left hand and pulled his jumper forward over his right hand, using it as a glove to cover his hand and fingers before taking the key from his left hand and inserting it in the lock. Slowly and deliberately, he changed his grip and turned the key. The door opened.

In the darkness, the room consisted of different shades of grey, sometimes black. Checkered light came in from a window mounted high up in the wall through a grate in the sidewalk in front of the building. The room was small and cluttered. The boy/man let go of Matt, took of his jacket, hanging it over another jacket on a hook next to the door. Water dripped of it on to the cement floor below. He then bent down and started to remove his shoes. Matt took off his own coat and hung it on a second peg, trying to find the least weighed down one. He then bent down and started removing his shoes. The boy/man had not made much progress, his fingers appeared to be numb, and he could not untie the knots. Matt relieved his hands and undid them for him. Their hands touched. The boy/man's hands were ice-cold. He loosened the shoelaces and undid his own shoes. The boy/man stood up again slowly, supporting himself on the doorframe. He then departed into the no-man's land of walking without support across the floor. His outline glistened in the light. He leant against the wall and a light went on in front of him. The true state of disorder became clear to Matt. The room looked like a bomb had exploded in an antique bookstore. Piles of paper and broken old volumes lay around on the floor. An old piano stood next to the wall. Matt looked at the first mound. It was music by someone Matt had never heard of before, someone called Sweelinck. He crouched down, picked it up, and opened it. It was a facsimile of an original manuscript.

'Please don't touch that.'

Matt looked up. The boy/man was staring at the music, his expressionless face tilted to one side. Matt put it back down.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, I was just curious.'

The boy/man didn't say anything. They sat crouched on the floor opposite each other. Neither spoke.

'What's your name?'

The boy/man didn't answer. He sat down on the mattress behind him and stared at the ground.

'Are you going to be okay? Is there anything I can do for you?'

The boy/man lay down on his side, huddled together on the mattress and started humming again. It was the same music. He shut his eyes. Matt went to him and pulled the covers over him.

'If you're going to be okay, I should be getting home.'

There was no reply, just the same humming. Matt looked at him for a long time. Then he stood back up and went to the door. He saw a letter on top of the piano, something official. He looked at it. It was addressed to a Mark Peterson. Matt opened the door again and turned round to look at him. The humming had got quieter. He pulled his coat and shoes on.

'Sleep well, Mark.'

He turned and left theroom, pulling the door shut behind him.

Abschnitt 2

'Well as long as you're ok, that's the most important thing.'

'Of course I'm okay, mom. You don't have to worry about me.'

'Well I do worry about you, all alone in that big city, full of muggers and rapists and murderers. Dave and I would feel a lot better and be able to sleep a lot more soundly if you could find a nice young man and settle down. Someone who'd watch over you and call us if you started wandering around the bad areas late at night, like you appear to want to do.'

'I wasn't wandering around, I was on my way home in the subway, and I explained that. I had to get home somehow.'

'Well why didn't you take a cab? If it has something to do with money, you shouldn't think about that. We haven't got much, I know, but if it means the difference between you getting knocked together by a gang wielding baseball bats and you getting home safe and sound, then we'll send you whatever you need.'

'It wasn't a gang, there were two of them. Aren't you happy that I stopped them from killing him?'

'Well of course I am, and I'm proud of you. You always were a good boy, Matt and you always supported the underdog. But it could have been so dangerous.'

'Yeah, well I'm okay, and I think he'll recover too.'

'Why didn't you call an ambulance?'

'He didn't want one. I offered, but he just shook his head. Though I have a bad feeling because of that, he must have really been hurting. Poor little fella.'

'Describe him to me.'

'Well, I dont know where to start. He was small and thin. I think they were just picking on him. It was a good thing I could stop them when I did, otherwise he would have been injured badly. I just sat with him on the ground for a while holding his shoulder, letting him know I was there for him and that the thugs had gone.'

'He was lying on the ground?'

'Like I said, he was hurting. He couldn't get up, and he didn't speak. Well, at first he couldn't get up, then we reached his stop and I helped him up. Then he got out of the train and collapsed, so I ran after him and helped him up again. Then I brought him home.'

'You were running around Morrisania in the middle of the night?'

'I couldn't have left him there mom, he just collapsed in the middle of the stop. He'd have died of hyperthermia.'

'Okay, you're right, you had to help him. I just wish somebody else had been in this situation and not you.'

'I know you do mom, but you can't help having brought me up right. Anyway, I walked him home. He lives in a really bad neighbourhood, and he lives in the cellar of a house there. I don't have a clue how people can live like that, mom. It was real cold and dirty and dark.'

'The poor boy!'

'Anyway, he just crawled into bed, started humming to himself and fell asleep. No, it wasn't a bed; I think it was an old, mouldy mattress on the floor.'

'He didn't say thank-you? He must have been really shaken up.'

'He only spoke once; I thought he was mute until he spoke. I was looking at some of the books on his floor. Believe me, mom, you have never seen anything like this room. Books literally everywhere, all of them music books, you know, manuscripts. So I picked one of them up and started looking at it and he told me not to touch it.'

'It sounds like he was hurt more badly than you thought, if he didn't speak.'

'Maybe. I got the impression that he just wasn't used to speaking to people. I think he lives there all alone and doesn't get out much. I think he's lonely.'

'You're not going to start wandering around the bad areas of town late at night!'

'Don't worry, mom! I just want to check up on him and make sure he's okay. If he really is hurt, no one will ever find him there.'

'Just do what you must, Matt. But promise me you won't go wandering around there after it's dark.'

'I promise, mom. Listen, mom. I only got home at three this morning and had to get up at seven, so I'm beat. Could we talk again tomorrow?'

'Okay, just give me a call when you want. I'll be at home all afternoon.'

'I love you mom, and give my love to Dave and Jane.'

'I will do, Matt. We all love you too, and take care!'

Matt hung up and let the phone drop onto the floor. He raised his hand to his eyes and massaged them. It had been a long day and he needed more sleep. He ran the risk of falling asleep in the armchair in front of the computer. He opened his eyes, with a jolt stood up, and went to the window. Below him was the university campus. A safe haven. Far from the madding crowd. He thought about the melody Mark had hummed the day before. He couldn't quite remember it, but he could still feel it in some way. He'd recently met a music student from the Juilliard at a party. Maybe he could get enough of the melody together to ask her what this music was.

He turned away from the window, went to his cupboard, opened it and took a fresh towel and some boxer shorts out. He stripped down to the boxer shorts he was still wearing, watching himself in the mirror inside the cupboard. He liked his body, which was understandable. Although he had lightened up a bit since starting at university - the rigors of his course of studies had forced him to limit his training to two or three times a week - he was still well built. He flexed his muscles, turned away from the window and pulled his boxers down at the front so he could look at the reflection of his dick. He growled at himself, grinned, let the boxers fall to the ground and stepped out of them. He then threw the fresh ones onto the bed and went to shower.

 

-----

He sat on the subway typing in his old notebook. He was glad he'd brought the old computer with him to college. Nobody would mug him for this, and if they did, he wouldn't have lost that much. He was working on an assignment he'd received in his class on programming. Matt never had difficulty concentrating. People came and went, jostling him or shoving their backpacks in his face and his concentration hardly wavered. After ten minutes he'd sketched out the basic program and he started the computer compiling it. He looked out the window. He would soon be arriving at the stop where he and Mark had got out two days ago. The computer registered an error. He opened the source code and found the right line. He'd written a comma when it should have been a period. He corrected the error and started the compilation again. This time everything worked. He started the program and it spat out the expected answers on the screen. He smiled and then let it run once more to enjoy his success. Then he shut down the computer, folded it shut and put it in his backpack amongst some books and papers for the courses he'd had that day. The train rounded a corner and started to slow down. The area looked better in the day light. Matt stood up, slung his backpack over one shoulder and went to the door.

The doors opened and the fresh, cool air came rushing in, immediately making him realize how stuffy the subway carriage had become. He set off over the road and retraced his steps through the dirty streets until he found the house where Mark lived. He paused next to the door to kneel down and look through the grating above the window of Mark's room. He couldn't see anything in the darkness below, but that was no proof that Mark wasn't there. He went to the door. There were a couple of bells, and Matt spent a couple of seconds deciphering the scrawled names next to them. None of them said Mark Peterson. He was just trying to decide whether he should press a bell at random when he realized that the door wasn't properly shut. He pressed against it and it opened, scraping along the tiles of the floor. Matt entered the house.

His eyes adjusted quickly to the low light level and he strode confidently forwards, telling himself to try to look as if he belonged here. Behind him, one of the doors he'd just past opened.

'Can I help you?'

The woman was drunk. Matt turned around to see an aging forty-something in a dressing gown. As he watched, she pulled the front of the gown open a bit to show more of her cleavage.

'I'm looking for Mark. Do you know if he's here?'

'The boy from downstairs? Why do you want to speak to that looser, honey? A good looking lad like you should be out screwing.'

'Yeah, whatever.'

Matt turned round and opened the door to the stairs. Behind him he heard a male voice shouting and the woman at the door turned round and shouted back. He went down the stairs and through the junk in the cellar until he reached Mark's door. He knocked.

'Mark? Are you there? It's me, Matt.'

There was no answer. Matt waited a few seconds, listening intently.

'If you're there, open up! I want to talk to you, find out if you're okay.'

Nothing happened. Matt waited a further half minute, then he turned round and went back up the stairs. The same man from two days ago was standing in the same door wearing the same clothes.

'He's not in so fuck off.'

'I just want to know if he's okay. They beat him up real bad a couple of days ago. Have you seen him since then?'

The man looked at him before answering.

'Yeah, I saw him this morning. Now fuck off.'

Matt stared at him, then he walked past him to the door and left, glad to get out of the building. He set off back to the subway stop. He hadn't got the impression, that Mark was still in his room. That meant that he had to be okay and on his feet at least. He walked past a freshly-painted cafe. Without a second thought, he went in and sat down at a table near the window. He ordered a coffee, took his laptop out of his backpack, opened it and started working.

The next time he looked up, two hours had passed and the sky was noticeably darker. Remembering his promise to his mother, he called the waitress over and paid. Then he got up, packed his belongings together and walked out into the cold wind. The streets were livelier than they had been earlier. Teenagers and young adults stood around as if they were waiting for something. Matt tried to avoid eye contact. He went back to Mark's house. It was loud in the street. A mixture of hip-hop and trance at full volume caused the windows to vibrate. Matt knelt down next to the door. Under the grate he could see a weak light. He checked the door. It wasn't shut properly. He pushed it open, being careful to keep it from scraping along the floor. Not that the couple in the room behind the door could even have heard him; given the amount of noise emanating from within their room. It was some sort of easy-listening from the 70s that Matt didn't recognize. It was almost loud enough to drain out the shouting and screaming. Matt went to the door at the end of the corridor, opened it and, having located the light switch, descended into the cellar.

The music from the ground floor echoed even more loudly here. He went to the last door and raised his hand to knock. He heard the piano from within the room. He put his ear to the door and listened. Even from this distance, the piano was quieter than the background noise. Covering his right ear with his hand, he strained his left ear to hear. Maybe because he was straining to hear, the music pulled him into another world. It was stunningly beautiful. It wasn't music; it was like a living, breathing being. Moreover, this being was talking to him about the most joyous and most important moments of its life, as if they had been distilled and turned into sound. It was uplifting and liberating. It was perfect. It was sacred. It seemed to go on and on like a never-ending tapestry, like stars in the night sky seen clearly from out in the country, on top of a mountain. It was a sanctuary from the violence, dirt and poverty.

Like all good things, it had to end. A particularly loud phrase in the music from the ground floor ripped him back to the house in the ghetto. He felt a wave of anger, raised his hands to his face and tried to relax. He knocked on the door quietly. For a long time there was no reply. Then he heard a reply, so quiet, he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it.

'Who's there?'

'It's me, Matt.'

'I don't know any one called Matt. Go away or I'll call the cops.'

'You know me. I helped you home two nights ago when you got beaten up in the subway.'

There was a long pause.

'What do you want?'

'I want to know if you're okay.'

'I'm fine.'

'Can I come in?'

There was another pause when nothing happened. Matt was just about to turn round and leave when he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door stayed shut in front of him. Matt reached up, pushed down the handle and opened it. He went in. Mark sat crouched on his mattress in the corner of the room. He was wearing the same clothes as two days ago. He hugged his legs. His face was swollen and bruised. His clear blue eyes stared at Matt. Matt sat down on the floor next to the bed. He felt the cold through the carpet.

'What was that you were playing just now? It was beautiful.'

'I don't know.'

'You don't know? How can you not know?'

'I've forgotten.'

Matt tried not to look worried.

'Well, it was beautiful. That's probably the most important thing. Have you been playing for long?'

Mark tilted his head to one side and looked at the piano. He seemed to become even more uncomfortable. Matt suddenly felt out of place, as if he was intruding.

'You know, Mark. I should be getting back. It's getting dark, and I promised my mother that I wouldn't go wandering around after dark.'

A car drove past with rap blaring out of its speakers. The sub-woofer caused objects in the room to vibrate. It even managed to temporarily drown out the sound from upstairs.

'If you ever want a break from this noise you can come visit me. It's usually pretty quiet where I live.'

'I don't want to see where you live.'

'Well just think about it. Here, I'll leave you my cell number, in case you change your mind.'

He took a piece of paper from his backpack, ripped off a corner and wrote his name and telephone number on it.

'Here. In case you change your mind. Maybe I can come round again and hear you play.'

Mark looked at him again, his face emotionless.

'I don't like it when other people listen.'

'Well, okay. But I think that's a pity, because you play really well.'

Mark turned his head to face the piano again and started humming. Matt decided not to put him under pressure, got up and went to the door.

'Well, I'm glad to see you're okay and on your feet. I was worried about you. Maybe I'll call round again sometime.'

He opened the door and started walking through it.

'Thanks.'

Matt turned round and smiled.

'Don't mention it.'

Abschnitt 3

Matt lay on his bed and tried to extract his arm from under Adam's body. He thought not for the first time how very romantic it was, falling asleep in each other's arms, but it did at some stage cut off the circulation. His movement was enough to wake Adam, who grunted at him and pushed himself up, so that Matt could remove his arm.

Matt hadn't told his mother about Adam for a number of reasons. The most powerful of which was without a doubt the fact that Matt had lost his uncle, his mother's brother to aids five years ago. The loss had taught Matt an important lesson. Up to that stage he had experimented a lot with the other boys at school. As soon as the family had found out that Brian had aids, a world had collapsed for Matt. He had had himself tested, fortunately he was negative, and had stopped having casual sex so much. The pictures of his uncles quick deterioration, (the disease had been diagnosed quite late and the drug cocktails had shown little effect), were forever burnt in his memory and it had taken a long time, before he could have sex again. In his last year at high school he'd had a relationship, but they had separated to study at university. Although they had liked each other a lot, there had been no love involved. Now, almost two years later, Matt had met Adam, a social economics student at the university.

They had got on well from the word go. After a couple of weeks of hanging around in each other's room and eating lunch together Adam had made the first move. That had all been about a month ago. Since then, their relationship had stayed at about the same level. They were very different people and neither of them believed that it would last particularly long. It was, however, a very pleasant way of warming up the long cold winter nights. And they certainly enjoyed the sex. They were both athletic young men, in excellent condition. Their relationship had little depth outside the bedroom or the shower, but that was enough for Matt. Besides, as he always told himself, he had enough to do at university anyway.

He looked down at Adam's body in the moonlight. He withstood the desire to stroke his back, to feel the muscles through the skin and work his way down to the perfect butt he'd just fucked half an hour beforehand. They both had to get up early and they needed some sleep. He felt the blood slowly pumping into his cock. Knowing Adam he'd certainly be up for a second round. Instead Matt turned over, shut his eyes and tried to get to sleep. His thoughts turned to Mark.

It was a week ago to the day that he had last seen him. Not that he had expected Mark to call, but secretly he'd hoped. Who was this young man? He lived in squalor and poverty, surrounded by noise and dirt and yet was obviously possessed of a fearsome intellect and extra-ordinary abilities. What was his story? Matt decided to go to see him again.

He'd just started to fall asleep again when his cell phone rang. He picked it up; it was a local number he didn't recognize. It was also half past one. Adam stirred, pulled a pillow demonstratively over his head and tried to sleep. Matt answered.

'Yeah?'

'This is Captain Monroe from the New York Police Department. Am I speaking to Matthew Brozniak?'

'Yes, I'm Matt Brozniak. Has something happened?'

'If nothing had happened, I wouldn't be calling you kid, now would I? We just found a young man badly hurt on the street. He didn't have any ID on him, but we found your number in his pocket. He's being taken to St. Barnabas right now. We'd like you to tell us who he is.'

Matt knew who he was, but he decided to try to find out more before telling the cop anything. He had the feeling that the cop would hang up at the first opportunity.

'Is he badly hurt?'

'I've seen worse, kid. Do you know who he is?'

Matt decided to risk it.

'No, I don't. Maybe if I could see him?'

'I'll send round a car to pick you up, if you tell me where you are.'

'I'm in Carlyle Hall on the Union Square campus of the NYU. I could be standing at the main entrance on 14th street in five minutes.'

'They'll be a car there waiting for you, Mr Brozniak.'

The police officer hung up, but not before Matt heard him say 'fucking kid' under his breath. He turned around. Adam was staring at him.

'Someone die?'

Adam's sense of humour. One needed a hard skin when one spent time around Adam.

'Not yet.'

He climbed over Adam, being sure to rub his still half-hard dick on Adam's ass. He bent over and kissed Adam's neck while doing this.

'So what's up, apart from your cock?'

'The police have found someone with my cell number in his pocket. They want to know who he is, so I've got to go identify him.'

'If you've been two-timing me, I'll have to ask you to bring him back here for an orgy.'

Matt didn't say anything but stood up and started getting dressed. Adam looked at him in the darkness.

'If you want me to come with you, I will do.'

'Don't worry, it won't take long. I have a pretty good idea who it is anyway. You just get some sleep.'

He opened the door to the bathroom and went in. He rinsed his mouth out with mouthwash to get rid of the smell of cum and washed his hands free of the smell of condom and lube. He came back out and smiled at Adam. Adam spoke without looking at him.

'I'd like to point out at this stage that if you get back and find me and your new laptop missing, these two things are totally unconnected.'

'I'll be back soon.'

Matt went to the door to the corridor and opened it. The light from the neon tubes flooded the room. He went out, pulled the door shut behind him, went down the stairs and left the building.

It was a cold night. The evening dew had frozen and the ground sparkled under foot. He was surprised to feel how worried he was. For some reason he felt responsible for Mark. He had gained the impression that Mark had never had the things he himself had taken for granted - a loving family, a warm bed, food in his stomach, friends who cared for him. He felt sad for Mark, and now he'd been beaten up again.

He reached the front gates and waited. Within a minute a standard police car pulled up. The driver's door opened and a young black officer in uniform stepped out. Matt could hear the distorted sounds from the police radio.

'Are you Matthew Brozniak?'

'Yeah.'

'Let's see some ID, kid.'

So they really did speak like that. Matt took his ID out of the pocket of his jeans and showed it to the officer. He took it and examined it before giving it back.

'Get in.'

It was the first time Matt had ever sat in a police car. It stank of coffee and donuts. Another cliché and yet again an accurate one. The officer put the car in gear and they drove off north. Matt tried to start a conversation a few times, but the cop wasn't interested. Instead, he sat there in silence, wondering if he'd done the right thing by withholding Mark's name. He was in hospital anyway getting the best possible care, and when he thought about it, he wasn't exactly sure what his surname had been anymore. The car rocked him gently back and forth and the initial burst of adrenalin he'd received had soon been absorbed by his body. The sleep deprivation caused by fucking all night for a month had caught up with him and he rested his face in his hands. The officer glanced across at him.

'Don't worry, he'll live through it. He's not that badly hurt.'

'What? Oh yeah, thanks.'

They carried on riding in silence until they reached the hospital. An overweight police officer in his forties was waiting for them. Matt got out. The officer exchanged a few pleasantries with his colleague in the car. He then led Matt into the building.

Matt saw him first through the glass in the door of the waiting room from behind. He was sitting upright in a chair, wearing the same leather jacket. His head was tilted to one side and his long, dirty hair ran over his left shoulder and down his back. Matt opened the door and went in, accompanied by Officer Monroe. He went round in front of Mark and crouched down. Mark had a few plasters in his face holding wounds together. His eyes were glassy. He didn't seem to recognize Matt.

'Hey Mark, it's me, Matt. What happened to you?'

Matt was surprised to feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He wasn't naive, he knew that people were beaten up now and then; he'd seen it a few times. But Mark shouldn't get beaten up. That was just unfair.

'So you know him? Can you identify him?'

'His names Mark Peterson, as far as I know. If you show me a map I can tell you where he lives.'

Matt reached out and took Mark's hand. He flinched when he was touched but didn't pull back. Matt looked into his eyes.

'Hey Mark. Are you okay?'

'He's got a bad concussion, kid. If he doesn't want to talk, you won't get anything out of him.'

Matt felt a tear slowly roll down his face.

'Who the fuck did this to him?'

'If we knew how it had happened, the world would be a safer place, wouldn't it?'

Matt turned to the police officer his eyes glaring.

'You know, you're really not helping here.'

'Don't get sassy with me, kid. Just because your boyfriend here met with an accident.'

Matt shut his eyes and tried to calm himself down before replying.

'Can you leave me alone with him for a moment? I don't think he likes having so many people around him.'

'Whatever you say, kid.'

The officer left the room, letting the door slam shut behind him. Matt opened his eyes again. Mark was looking out the window, his head as ever tilted on the side. His eyes were still glassy, but they were focused. At some stage it had started sleeting. The sloppy snow was running down the glass. Matt could see his and Mark's reflection like ghosts on a black screen. Specters in front of a nothingness, a vacuum. He felt himself falling into the darkness. He was tired, uncertain. An hour ago he had been wrapped around his lover, fucking him, injecting his seed, loving the taste of his tongue. Now this all seemed so unimportant, so trivial, so superficial. Mark needed him. He turned back round to Mark and started trying to hum the melody he had heard Mark humming more than a week beforehand. Slowly Mark started humming with him. Matt listened to the beautiful melody he had only partially been able to take in. His cheeks were now wet with tears.

'Mark, I worry about you.'

Mark took his gaze from the window and looked at Matt.

'You don't have to worry about me.'

It was the longest sentence Mark had ever spoken in Matt's company. Matt laughed with relief. He had started to think that Mark had been driven totally insane by the attack. Mark looked back at the window.

'He's coming back.'

'Who?'

Officer Monroe opened the door as if pushing the door handle down was optional. He came snuffling into the room. Matt saw him smile at the tears on his face.

'Okay Mr Brozniak. I've brought you a map. Now show me where this fruitcake lives so we can be getting out of here.'

Matt felt a wave of anger and hate growing inside of him. He forced himself to remain calm. He stayed motionless for ten seconds, not trusting himself to speak or move. Then he took the map and traced the route he'd taken a week ago to find the house. He pointed at a line on the map.

'This is the street. I don't know the number. If it's okay with you, I'll ride with him and make sure he gets home okay.'

'Yeah, you two lover-boys get on home and enjoy yourselves.'

'And what are you going to do about the people who did this to him?'

'Did what?'

'What do you mean did what? He's obviously been beaten up!'

'The way I see it, kid, he fell over and hurt himself. Maybe I should arrest the sidewalk.'

Matt looked back at Mark, totally speechless. Mark was staring out the window. His eyes had become glassy again. Only the thought of Mark and exposing him to even more violence kept Matt from hitting the police officer.

'Mark, let's be getting out of here. I'll take you home.'

Mark stared out of the window. Matt stood up and pulled him up. He didn't resist. Together they left the room. Matt felt his hatred of the building and the officer grow with each step he took. He had to get Mark out of this place and back home. Their steps reverberated in the long corridor. Matt thought of Mark's room in the broken-down house. He thought of the cold. Today it would be biting. Matt laid his arm around Mark's shoulder. They reached the entrance of the hospital, the admissions. There were a number of people in there who had hurt themselves in the snow and freezing conditions. The weather had become worse; the snow had started to settle. He felt Mark's hand. It was cold. He took off his ski jacket and draped it around Mark's shoulders.

'Here that should keep you warm. Let's find a cab.'

By the time they reached the line of taxi cabs in front of the hospital, Matt's white t-shirt was wet through and his teeth were chattering. They climbed in the back and Matt gave the driver the address. The driver turned round and stared at them before starting off. The road clearing machines were out en force keeping the major routes clean. Nevertheless, the cab slid around at times. They could barely see more than fifty feet in the blizzard. At last, they reached the right street. Matt reached into his pocket to pay the cab driver. It was his last ten-dollar bill. He'd probably end up walking home for an hour in this weather. At least he wouldn't have to worry about being mugged. They got out and went to the front door. Again, Mark found it impossible to put the key in the lock and turn it and Matt opened the door for them. They went inside. It was barely warmer here and it stank of boiled fish. The smell accosted Matt's freezing nose. They went downstairs into the darkness. It was wet here. They walked through puddles to Mark's room. Matt opened the door and they went in. The room was freezing cold and it stood under about an inch of water. There was an icy breeze coming from the broken window, where the water had run in. Matt stared at the destruction.

'What the fuck?'

Mark collapsed forwards onto his knees, causing waves in the surface. Matt grabbed Mark's pillow and stuffed it tight into the whole in the glass, so stopping the water from pouring in. His thoughts raced, trying to find a solution.

'Hey Mark, do you know anyone you can stay with here in the neighborhood?'

Mark didn't say anything; he just stared at the water on the floor. Matt went over to him, crouched down in front of him and looked him in the eyes.

'Mark, I need you to help me here. Have you got anywhere you can stay?'

Mark shook his head.

'Okay, then you can stay with me tonight. Do you have money for a cab? I spent my last ten just now.'

Mark felt his pockets in turn. Then he shook his head.

'Okay, give me my cell phone from my jacket.'

Mark gave it to him. He called a number. It rang five times and the answer machine switched itself on. He hung up and called again. This time Adam answered.

'This had better be fucking important.'

'Adam, I need your help. Can you come get us? I'm broke and don't have any money for a cab.'

'Well that was fucking intelligent of you.'

'Adam, I know, I'm stupid. But I really need your help right now.'

Adam breathed out slowly.

'You owe me so fucking much, you have no idea. Give me the address.'

Matt smiled and gave it to him. Then he hung up and looked at Mark.

'Hey. My boyfriend's going to pick us up. You can sleep at my place tonight. He'll be here soon.'

'My piano. The water will damage it.'

'As soon as Adam's here we can move it into the corridor where it can dry off a bit.'

Matt reached out and touched Mark's arm.

'The music. I have to take the music with me. It can't stay here.'

'Sure, you can take some of it with you. Let's get it all out of the water, and then you can decide what you want to take. Maybe we can also put your bookcase outside in the corridor so the books can dry there.'

Matt went back into the corridor and found some planks and some bricks. He built them up to make a shelf above the water on the floor. He and Mark picked up the music and placed it on the makeshift shelf. Just as they had finished Matt's cell phone rang. It was Adam. He climbed the stairs and went outside. At the end of the street through the snow he saw car headlights. He went towards them. It was Adam.

Adam opened the window a crack and looked out as Matt approached.

'You didn't tell me I'd be driving around Mott Haven with my new Camaro dude. This is very uncool.'

'Adam, I owe you so much for this. Just park the car and come help me with the piano.'

'A fucking piano? What the hell is this?' He took his eyes from Matt and stared forwards out of the windscreen. 'This is surreal.'

Matt smiled. He was hugging himself to keep warm and his hair was covered with snow.

'Could we continue this discussion inside?'

Adam parked the car and got out. He opened his coat so Matt could cuddle on him and they went back inside. Adam looked around himself, in no way trying to hide his disgust. Matt led him down the stairs, past the light bulb into the darkness. He crawled out from the welcome warmth of Adam's body and went into the room. Mark was standing in front of the piano motionless. Matt went up to him and touched his arm.

'Hey Mark. This is my boyfriend Adam. He's going to help us with the piano and drive us home.'

Adam went up to Mark offering him his hand. Mark didn't react. He didn't even look at him. Matt spoke.

'Mark got beaten up today and he's not feeling himself.'

'You got beaten up? That's a bummer, dude. I know what I'm talking about.'

He reached out and rubbed Mark's shoulder. Mark glanced at him quickly and then looked back at Matt.

'Okay, Adam. Let's move the piano out into the corridor. Have you decided what books you want to take, Mark?'

Mark shook his head.

'Well try to make up your mind while we're moving the piano.'

The two jocks went to the heavy iron-framed instrument and grabbed on to it. They automatically used their muscles together as a team and made light work of the piano. It was soon standing outside. They went back into the room.

'You know Matt, this adventure does have a major plus point.'

'And what would that be?'

Adam went up to Matt and started stroking his stomach muscles.

'Well, I get to see you in a wet t-shirt competition.'

Matt laughed. Adam lent forwards and kissed him. Matt broke the kiss and looked over to Mark. He was standing in the corner of the room holding a pile of sheet music.

'Let's get out of here. Have you decided what you want to take with you? Okay, let's get home.'

They went to the car. Adam pointed the remote control at it and the doors unlocked. Matt and Mark went to the passenger side. Matt pulled the seat forward and Mark jumped in the back. Matt and Adam got in. Adam put the key in the ignition and turned it. The motor started. Adam's music came blaring out of the speakers. Matt reached forward and switched it off.

'Hey, don't touch my music, dude.'

'Mark doesn't like it.'

'Cool. If there's anything else Mark doesn't like, just let me know.'

Matt looked at Adam. He reached out with his left hand and placed it on Adam's thigh.

'I really appreciate this, Adam. I owe you one.'

'Yeah, yeah, just let me drive will you. I can't see a fucking thing and I could do without you getting me horny right now.'

He smiled. Matt turned round to see what Mark was up to and found himself face to face with him.

'You'd best sit back down and buckle up. The conditions are really bad here.'

Mark did as Matt suggested. There was just about enough space for him in the back of the Camaro. He looked out the window. There was silence in the car for a while until Mark spoke.

'Matt, I'm hungry.'

'Have we got anything to eat at home, Adam?'

'As far as I know, we haven't got much to eat.'

'Can you lend me the money for a pizza? I'll give it back to you tomorrow as soon as I can get to a bank.'

'Yeah, whatever. It's only half past fucking three in the morning. I only have to get up at seven. Let's all go on a family outing to Pizza Hut, see what Disney figures they have this month with each special offer. Just because I like you to fuck me every night, doesn't mean I like you to fuck with me, dude.'

Matt wasn't sure if Adam was serious or just joking. He lent across and kissed his cheek.

'You're my hero for this here. I may have to rechristen you Lancelot.'

'Just don't make a habit of it.'

Matt called a pizza service on his cell phone and ordered two pizzas. They drove on in silence through the snow. Fortunately, they were on the larger streets for most of the route and they made good progress. Ten minutes later they were pulling in to the university campus. Their timing was perfect. Behind them somebody sounded a horn. The van from the pizza service pulled in after them. Adam went to the driver's window and paid. The delivery boy looked to be about as happy as Adam was. They went into the old hotel, shook the snow and rain off their jackets, flashed their ID at the security and climbed the stairs to the third floor. Adam unlocked the door to Matt's room and they went inside. The room was modest but warm and dry. Matt took the pizzas from Adam and made some space on the table amongst his books and papers. Adam meanwhile tidied up the bed a bit, picking up the condom from the floor where Matt had let it drop and put the bottle of lube back in the chest next to the bed.

'I gotta shower. I'm freezing. Just start eating; I'll be back in five.'

Matt went to his wardrobe and removed jeans, t-shirt and boxer shorts. He went into the en-suite bathroom, a real luxury. He bent down, undid his shoes and took them off with his socks. The skin on his toes had started to prune. He stood back up and peeled his jeans and t-shirt off. He turned the water on hot in the shower. Then he let his boxer shorts fall to the ground. Judging by the length of his dick he really was freezing. He stood back up and went under the shower, letting the strong, hot jet massage his body. He really had to do some stretching exercises. After a few minutes he felt human again. He shut off the water, dried himself off and put on the fresh clothes. He opened the door and went back out. Mark was sat cross-legged on the floor dissecting a wedge of pizza. Adam was lent back against the bed and obviously trying desperately not to fall asleep. Matt tried to take a neutral distance between them and sat down on the floor. He took a piece of pizza from the table. It looked like there'd be enough for breakfast.

'Your friend here doesn't speak much, does he?'

Matt edged across the floor to the bed and lent back next to Adam.

'I find it to be a nice change compared with someone else I know.'

'Maybe you could explain to me when I should open my mouth then. Sometimes you seem to quite like it, at other times it's just totally wrong.'

Matt lent over and kissed him.

'I think I understand. If something's going in, that's okay, but when something's coming out, that's bad.'

They both grinned. Matt turned round to see how Mark was doing. He was staring at them.

'Hey wassup, Mark? How's the pizza?'

'I don't want to have sex with you.'

Matt and Adam looked at each other before Matt turned back to Mark and spoke.

'You think I brought you here so we could have sex? Mark, I brought you here so you'd have somewhere to sleep tonight. Nobody's going to have sex with you. Adam's going to sleep in his room. I'm going to sleep in my bed here, and you're going to sleep in my sleeping bag on my air mattress on the floor. No one's going to touch you. Okay?'

Mark didn't say anything. He picked some more of the topping off his pizza and put it in his mouth listlessly. Matt didn't take his eyes off him.

'Is that okay, Mark?'

Mark looked down at his shoes.

'Okay.'

'Okay. Now that that's settled, let's be getting some sleep.'

Matt stood up, went to his wardrobe again and pulled his sleeping bag and a small box down from above it. The box contained the air mattress and a foot pump. He started pumping it up. It was soon hard. Adam got up, grabbed Matt's hand and pulled him towards the door.

'I'll see you tomorrow Mark. Don't worry; Matt will be back in a minute.'

Matt let Adam pull him through the door and shut it behind them. Then Adam hugged him tight, pressing his body on him and kissed him. Their tongues entwined. Adam undid Matt's jeans and slid his hands in the back to stroke Matt's ass. Then he moved his right hand round to the front of the jeans and cupped Matt's cock and balls. They stood in this intimate embrace for about a minute before Adam broke it.

'Okay, I gotta get some sleep. Good luck with the loon.'

Matt watched him walk away to the staircase. Then he went back into the room. Mark had managed to take off his jacket and his shoes and socks.

'Towels and stuff are in the bathroom. If you want to put on some clean clothes, take a pair of my boxers and a t-shirt. Is there anything else you need?'

'Could I take a shower?'

'Go for it, but let me brush my teeth first.'

Matt went into the bathroom, peed and then brushed his teeth. When he came back out, Mark was waiting behind the door with a pair of boxers and a dark t-shirt. They exchanged places. Matt took off his t-shirt and jeans and got into bed. He listened to Mark showering. It didn't take him long. At least he didn't have a bathroom tick, Matt thought. The door opened and Mark glanced at him. The change took his breath away. Standing upright in clean clothes and with his hair washed and pulled out of his face, Mark was exceedingly beautiful. Matt couldn't help but stare at him. He was like an angel, a pure being of indescribable beauty. Mark went to the mattress. Then he looked at Matt, his sharp, intelligent eyes seemed to fix Matt to the spot like a rabbit in the headlights of a car. Matt lay in bed, incapable of movement. He was painfully aware of every second, of every breath, of every heartbeat, as if his life had never been real up to this minute. Mark lay down in the sleeping bag.

'Thanks, Matt'

'Don't mention it.'

Matt watched Mark turn on his side. He heard him start humming. It was achingly, exquisitely beautiful. He was achingly, exquisitely beautiful. Matt listened in ecstasy. After a while the humming got steadily quieter. Then it stopped totally. Matt lay awake in his bed, mesmerized by that which he had seen and heard. He felt an elation he had never felt before. Time passed slowly by. He heard the clock strike five. Perfect silence apart from Mark's breathing. Then he heard another sound from Mark's bed. A soft regular tapping. He didn't recognize it. At first he though Mark was masturbating, but it sounded wrong. He sat half up in bed, resting on his elbow to see. In the moonlight he saw Mark lying on his side facing him. He was asleep, but his left hand was on the pillow next to his face. It was moving as if playing the piano and the precise movement of his fingers was making this sound.