Torch Song - 5. Chapter 5: Endings And Beginnings

Soft chimes woke me. I felt weightless, floating in air. Somewhere I heard water tumbling over stone, as if I were near a brook. Had I died after all, and gone to some kind of afterlife?

I opened my eyes slowly. At first all I could see was a blur of color. Then my sight adjusted, and I saw that I was in a room decorated with tapestries on every wall. Carefully I turned my head and found the source of the water: a stone fountain, set exactly in the room's center.

My stomach growled loudly. Was it possible to be hungry in my state? I turned my head in the other direction and saw fruit arranged in a bowl, and a pitcher next to it. Well, I thought, if this is death, it's very pleasant.

I gathered my willpower and pushed up with my elbows. The next thing I knew, I was sitting up on the edge of a large bed. Dizziness kept me from trying to stand. Instinctively, I reached for the pitcher, then stopped, amazed.

My hands no longer belonged to me. They were on my arms, as they should be, but I didn't recognize them as mine. For one, they were no longer gnarled with the effects of the arthritis. I held my fingers up before my eyes, staring in wonder, food and drink forgotten.

I glanced around the room until I saw what I wanted: a mirror, just across from the bed. I took a deep breath, and with a huge effort, got myself to my feet by leaning on the table with the fruit. Dimly, I noted that I was dressed in some kind of long garment of shimmering dark green silk that ended just above my ankles. I had to cling to the wall to support myself, but managed to shuffle over to the mirror without falling. Another deep breath and I was there, at the glass…

…and staring at a stranger. No, not a total stranger after all, I realized. It was me, but not me at thirty-seven. The man in the mirror was closer to twenty: eyes clear, face unlined, hair thick and wavy.

My mouth hung open foolishly at the sight. I closed it with an effort, but it dropped again of its own accord as I noticed one more detail about my appearance. Beneath the hair curling over my eyes was a single streak of deep russet.

"It worked," I whispered to my reflection. "It worked!"

"Yes, it did."

Rusty's voice behind me startled me so that I nearly fell. He caught me under one arm.

"Easy, baby. You're still weak."

I leaned on him gratefully as he helped me back across the room and sat me down on the bed. Once I'd settled, and the dizziness passed, I could see that he was dressed in a similar fashion: flowing robes of black with gold piping around the hem, cuffs, and neckline. I looked up into his familiar, beloved face. Rusty looked younger as well, yet not so dramatically.

"We will age," said Rusty, reading my expression correctly. "Though not as quickly as before. But come on, Mack, you need to eat something."

He reached for the pitcher and poured some of its contents into a goblet. A faint scent of roses came from the liquid. I raised it to my lips and swallowed. Immediately, strength flowed through my limbs. Then Rusty handed me a pear, and I took a bite, letting the juices run down my chin. Rusty smiled and dabbed at my face with a cloth.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much." I paused. "Rusty…how long has it been?"

"You've been asleep for just over a week," he replied softly.

"A week!"

"Yes." He took the empty goblet from my hand and set it back on the table. "The initial change can be very hard on the body. It gets easier with time."

"Thank goodness. I'm not sure I could take—"

I stopped mid-sentence and closed my eyes. Behind the lids, scenes kept forming one after the other. The rush of people, the overturned chairs, the endless, ghastly screams—

"Mack!"

Rusty shook me firmly. I blinked the world back into focus, and some of the memories receded.

"Wh-what was that?" I stammered.

"It happens sometimes, after a traumatic change," was all Rusty said. But his eyes were filled with sudden anguish.

He started to rise from the bed. I caught at his arm.

"Rusty, I have to know. How bad was it?"

"Oh, Mack. If only I'd insisted we leave earlier." Rusty looked away, his face a mask of profound sorrow. "I don't know how I'll go on living with myself."

"You can't mean that. You were nowhere near the fire when it started!"

Rusty sighed. "I told you at the time, Mack: sometimes just my being there can affect circumstances. It would be better for both of us to put the whole thing out of memory."

"Rusty, don't ask me to do that. I had friends there. I need to know what happened to them."

My stubborn reaction finally got through. Rusty turned and left the room without another word. When he came back, he was carrying a newspaper. He started to hand it to me, then paused.

"Are you sure you want to see this?" he asked quietly.

I just held out my hand. He sighed again, gave me the folded paper, and went out once more, leaving me alone. I turned to the front page.

The headlines stood in tall, black letters.

"Boston Holocaust One Of Nation's Worst Fires," I read. "Death Toll Jumps To 477 In Cocoanut Grove Disaster."

Photographs showed women and men being carried by both the fire department and regular civilians. Broken chairs lay on the frozen sidewalk beneath shattered windows. Firemen lifted bodies through one of those windows, while others outside waited with stretchers.

Over four hundred dead…

I forced myself to read further. There was a list. I scanned it quickly, and soon found names I recognized.

William Shea, bartender: severely burned.

Katherine Sweatt, cashier: dead at scene.

Frank Balzarini, headwaiter: dead at scene.

There were more. But the headlines were blurred, and the paper wet…

A harsh sound escaped my throat, followed quickly by another, and another. I cast the paper aside and wept. All those people! I rocked on the bed in my despair while the tears flowed.

Warm arms enfolded me. I leaned on Rusty's chest and shed bitter tears as he crooned—not the wild song of the Grove fire, but a sweet, sad lullaby—until I was too weary to cry any more. Rusty laid me back on the bed, tucking the sheets around me. The last thing I remembered before drifting off to sleep was the soft touch of his lips on my forehead.

In my dream, I went back to the Cocoanut Grove. The maze of rooms was intact and unburned, but strangely empty. I wandered through one area after another in search of people. Finally, I came out in the dining room.

They waited for me there, a long line of friends and strangers. As I stood rooted to the spot, they began to file past one by one across the large room and over to a door on the other side. Each time the door opened, a brilliant light shown through for the briefest of instants. I thought at first it was fire. But although the light cast warmth, it was welcoming rather than dreadful.

The line was thinning quickly. Hard as I tried to speak, my tongue refused to work. Then the last person was coming towards me, and I managed to find my voice.

"Frank!" I called. "Wait for me."

Frank turned and smiled. "I'm sorry, Mack. You made your choice."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"I hope so. It's not for me to say. But I have a message for you to pass along to your friend, okay? Be sure to tell him this was just an accident. It wasn't his fault."

With that, Frank smiled again and opened the door. The beautiful light surrounded him. Then he was gone, leaving me with a profound sense of wonder and loss.

I opened my eyes to the colorful room. The dream was already fading, just a haze of images. I fought to retain it, knowing there was something I was supposed to remember, but the details eluded me.

Rusty came in carrying more fruit and a fresh pitcher. I took his offering gratefully, although I was by now definitely on the mend.

"I had some kind of dream," I started to say. "I was supposed to tell you about it, and now it's gone."

Rusty favored me with a dazzling smile, and I noticed suddenly how relaxed he looked. "Don't worry about it, Mack," he said. "I had the dream, too."

I nodded, understanding that whatever the dream was about, it had more meaning for Rusty. All that mattered to me was being with him. Slowly, it occurred to me that the recent past was blurring. Something in the dream did come back to me, then. Something someone (Frank?) had said.

I have a gift for you. The gift of forgetfulness.

I blinked and shook my head slightly as the memory fled again.

Rusty sat next to me while I finished eating, his hand resting comfortably on my knee. A thought occurred to me, now that I was feeling better.

"Rusty, where exactly are we? Is this your home?"

"Our home, Mack. For now, anyway."

"Oh." I looked around at the sumptuous furnishings. "Why can't we stay here?"

"We will, for just a bit longer." He sighed. "But sooner or later people will ask questions. They'll wonder why we don't age like they do. Or eat the same foods they do." He indicated the plate on my lap. "You're already full, aren't you, Mack? But you barely ate one pear and some grapes. Also, we don't eat meat, and that's unusual too."

I raised my eyebrows, but kept silent. He was right. Just the thought of digging into a steak made me queasy.

"But you always drank at the bar," I put in rather archly, I'm sorry to say.

Rusty just chuckled. "My one indulgence. It takes a very large amount of liquor to get us drunk, however."

"Ah. I'm not sure if that's a good thing." I squeezed his hand, and he returned the pressure. "So how far are we from the sultan's palace?" I joked.

"Beg pardon?" Rusty looked honestly puzzled.

"This place. Looks like it's right out of the Arabian Nights."

Rusty threw back his head and laughed outright. "Oh, Mack!" he said when he could catch his breath. "Sorry to disappoint you, but we're only a few miles outside of Boston." He swept a hand around at the fancy drapery. "I suppose this reminds me of when I was very young myself. Old habits die hard."

"Oh." The thought staggered me, but only momentarily. "I guess I'll get used to our age difference," I said with a grin.

Rusty leaned over and kissed my cheek. "I need to make preparations for our next move. When I'm done, I'll show you around the rest of the place."

"I'd like that," I replied happily.

"Great." He got up to go, then turned again. "Oh, I almost forgot. While I'm busy, you can look at this and tell me what you think of our next destination."

Rusty tossed something on my lap and left the room. It was a map, the kind you get at the filling station. Curious, I unfolded it and laid it out across my knees. One quick look at the map and I laughed until the tears came.

It seemed that my Rusty had a sense of humor I hadn't fully appreciated until now. He had circled the name of a town on the map, in the south-central part of the state of Arizona. If any place in this world could be home to us, I supposed this was it.

Next stop: Phoenix.