Torch Song - 2. Chapter 2: Dark Dreams

Back home, I fixed a quick lunch, and then scouted around for a good book. I'd just brought home a stack from the library. Reading was a lifelong passion, and I took the ribbing from the other employees at the club with a smile. I finally narrowed down my choices to a book on mythology and a mystery. The mythology looked interesting, but a little dry, so I spent the next hour with Rex Stout.

But my mind kept wandering back to my encounter in the park. I put the book away and switched on the radio instead, tuning in to some mellow band instrumental. I sat in my easy chair and listened awhile, until the melody lulled me into a doze…

…and I woke up some time later, my joints screaming. I drew deep breaths, trying to steady myself, but the pain only got worse. It took all my strength to push up out of the chair and walk to the bathroom medicine cabinet. I fumbled blindly for the pills the doc had prescribed. I found them at the back of the cabinet, popped two into my mouth, and washed them down as fast as I could without choking, before literally falling onto the bed.

The pain ebbed slowly. I lay there under the fuzzy spell of the drug, trying not to think about how much longer I would be able to mix drinks at the club. And if I quit, what then? I had some money set aside, but it wouldn't last long. I could hock my dad's pocket watch, maybe get just enough to buy a gun--

Stop it, Mack! What the hell was I thinking? I'd never counted myself a coward. But when I raised my hands and saw how swollen the knuckles were, I sobbed in frustration. Visions of a life spent in some hospital stretched before my eyes.

Damn it, I needed a drink. Yeah, I know all the clichés about bartenders getting into their own sauce. But I had a pretty good reason, and even on top of the pills, I figured one drink wouldn't hurt. So I sat up again and accidentally brushed my hand across the bedside table. Luckily, I didn't hurt myself more than the arthritis was already hurting me.

The feather floated off the table and onto my lap. I picked it up and looked at it, struck again by its beauty. It was nearly beautiful enough to make me forget about the pain in my hands. I turned it over, stroking the plume absentmindedly and watching it shimmer, red to gold and back again. The effect was hypnotizing. I nearly nodded off again, until my bladder made its needs known. I set the feather back on the table.

Nature taken care of, I washed my hands and grabbed for a cloth to do my face. As I was rubbing soap on the washcloth, I looked at my hands again. My normal, pain-free hands.

I dropped the washcloth in the sink, stunned. Once more, I held my hands in the light. I flexed my fingers, slowly, then faster. No pain! Not even a trace of the swelling that had disfigured them just moments ago.

I walked slowly back to my room and sat down on the bed to take stock. The relief in my hands was tempered by the fact that my legs still hurt, though not quite as much. It didn't make sense. If the arthritis had been magically cured, why just in my hands?

I shifted restlessly on the bed, making the dust on the side table swirl in colors of red and gold.

Red and gold? …the feather! I reached for it, and there was nothing to grasp. Only dust motes, the colors of the plume.

I leaned back against the pillow, trying to understand what was going on. How could a feather cure me? Yet I knew instinctively that that was exactly what had done it. And why did it dissolve?

My head hurt from all these unanswerable questions, so I quit thinking and lay back down on the bed. The late afternoon sun slanted through the curtains, warming me just enough to lull me back to sleep.

We danced together in an empty ballroom. Rusty held me close as we whirled across the floor, eyes only for each other. I looked around, thinking the club could open any time, and the customers would pour in.

"We're the only ones here," said Rusty. He could read my mind, of course.

"I want to stay like this forever," I said.

Rusty smiled sadly. "Are you willing to pay the price?"

What price, I started to ask, when the lights went out. But I could still see, and realized there was another source of light in the room, a light that jumped and danced much as we did. It grew brighter by the moment, and warmer, until my eyes and skin began to hurt—

--and I woke in a cold sweat. It took me several minutes to come back to reality. The bedside clock told me it was nearing midnight. All the same, I peeled out of my clothes and went for a quick shower before collapsing back onto the bed. I thought that I wouldn't sleep any more that night; but the shower did its trick, and soon I drifted off, this time thankfully without dreams.

My second day off was a lot less eventful, and I got a full night's sleep to boot. This was a good thing, since work at the club promised to increase with the holidays. Best of all, my hands remained limber.

So I walked into the club in high spirits and made my way through the maze of corridors to the entertainers' dressing rooms. Rusty's room was at the end of the hall, away from the ladies. I knocked quickly and pushed open the door.

Rusty sat on a stool, eyes closed, perfectly still. I knew he was practicing some mystic art he'd once told me he learned in the Far East. I forced myself to wait, until he let out a long breath and opened his eyes.

"Hello, Mack."

"Hello yourself." I grinned at him and turned to the door behind me. A dressing table sat nearby; I grabbed it and pulled it in front of the door without even thinking about how easy it was. Then I spun around and hugged Rusty to me before landing a fat kiss on his lips.

"Whoa!" Rusty laughed. "You don't know your own strength."

"I missed you, Rusty."

"Already?" He ran his hand down between my legs. "Yeah, I guess you did," he replied huskily.

"Stop by tonight? Please?"

"How can I resist such a passionate plea?" He leaned forward for another quick kiss. "But now I have to go, baby. I'm due onstage."

I let him go. He moved the table back against the wall, then turned and took my hand in his, squeezed it quickly and let go. I watched him disappear down the hall, smiling.

It was my turn to get to work, so I exited the dressing room and made my way to the bar. The place was hopping tonight. I saw Rusty on the stage, trying to make himself heard over the noise. As he smiled and mostly mouthed lyrics, the streak in his hair shone dark red, even in the dim lighting.

So I hadn't imagined it. Even across the club, I could see that the streak had grown. It now spread across the entire length of his forehead.

But the bar was too busy for me to wonder about Rusty's hair. Instead, I turned my attention to mixing drinks, while silently blessing whatever miracle had been worked in my fingers. I spent the next couple of hours happily serving my customers with a smile that for once I really felt inside.

When my shift ended, I hurried home full of anticipation. Rusty was there soon after I arrived. He grinned at my eagerness as I swept him into my arms…

"Hmmm," he said much, much later. "You're a real tiger tonight, Mack."

I traced a line across his chest with my finger. "Guess I'm just inspired."

He lifted his chin and gave me a serious look. "Mack…I may have to go away for awhile."

"Go away? What do you mean, Rusty?"

Rusty sighed. "I just have things to do. On my own. I'm sorry, Mack; I wish I could explain."

"You're coming back, aren't you?" When Rusty didn't answer right away, I sat up in bed. "You are coming back…Rusty, please. I love you."

"I know, Mack." His lips quirked in a half-smile. "I love you too…more than you realize. So quit frowning, and go to sleep, sweetheart."

But of course I couldn't. Not after that speech. I lay awake next to the man I loved more than anything else in the world, afraid.

Especially when I recalled that he hadn't actually promised to come back.

Exhaustion finally won out, and I slept. It was still dark when I woke. I tried to open my eyes, and couldn't. Guess I hadn't realized just how tired I really was. So I lay there, listening to the sound of water running in the bathroom.

Rusty must still be here, I thought. It struck me how, over the few months we had been lovers, he always left before I had a chance to see him off. I listened as he walked into the bedroom. From the sound of his footsteps, I figured he had stopped in front of the dresser.

"Too soon," he murmured. "It's just too soon."

What's too soon? I struggled to speak, but nothing happened. Was I still dreaming? I heard Rusty walk back to the bed. A moment later, I felt his hand touch my cheek softly. If this was a dream, it was very realistic.

He sighed and moved away. My face tingled from the warmth of his fingers. Wait! I yelled, but only in my mind. Don't go…

The front door of the apartment opened and closed again, and I was alone. I groaned. Please come back, Rusty, I thought, before spiraling into darkness.

We were in the ballroom again. Rusty looked solemn.

"It's nearly time," he said. "I can't hold you much longer, unless you choose to stay."

"I don't understand."

"Look around."

I looked. The illusive shifting light surrounded the dance floor. Suddenly the light came into sharp definition, bringing with it a sound like cellophane crackling.

Fire!

I backed up, towards the center of the room. The fire leapt higher without quite reaching me.

"Rusty! Help me!"

But Rusty walked away. He stopped just at the fire's edge and held out his hand.

"Choose, Mack."

I stared in horror as the fire crept up Rusty's legs.

"Choose," he asked again, and the word became an echo. "Choose…choose…choose…"

I wrenched myself out of the nightmare, a scream lodged in my throat.