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It's So Cold Even the Flies Are Dropping

         ". . . to him, so I said, this sucks, dude, this really does, I mean after all the crap we went through as kids . . ."
         ". . . think they're invincible, that's the problem, I tell you . . ."
         ". . . I saw him, just last week and I swear, the way he was talking it didn't seem like anything was wrong . . . I guess you just can't tell sometimes . . ."
         ". . . you see these things coming, I was saying it for years, people like that there's only one it can end, if you ask me . . ."
         ". . . he got her hooked, I'll bet you anything, he turned her into an addict and that's how he repays her, it's just a shame . . ."
         ". . . they didn't lift a damn finger to help him . . . you didn't hear? that they threw him out? he begged them for help and that's how . . ."
         ". . . he went, God I wanted to think it was an accident, you know, you read these things in the paper and you don't expect it to be anyone you know and then it turns out to be and . . ."
         ". . . then she says to him, she begs him to tell her why and he just stood there, I was right there, I saw it, it broke my heart . . ."
         ". . . to see everyone here, it's nice . . . some of these people we haven't seen in so long . . . really, I just wish . . ."
         ". . . I remember the way he used to laugh, that was the thing I most remember, honest, before I saw his picture tonight I had almost forgotten what he looked like, isn't that funny, you spend five years with someone and you'd think . . ."
         ". . . he was a bastard, through and through, always cocky, thought he could do anything, even if he had to make you feel like garbage to do it . . . what's that? yeah he was my friend, hell he always treated me decent . . ."
         ". . . enough that the family is suffering, I swear to God that there's a reporter back there, just hovering about waiting to ask questions, you'd think they'd have learned to . . ."
         ". . . leave me alone? no he never did, even after we broke up he kept calling me for a while, didn't want to believe it was over . . ."
         ". . . three years we were friends and people, you know, they just drift apart, it's nobody's fault it just happens and sometimes there's just nothing . . ."
         ". . . in his face, did you see, he just stared at her, like he couldn't be bothered to answer, they say strange things about that boy . . ."
         ". . . we've been here a while, let's say we go have a smoke in his memory, why don't we . . ."
         ". . . ran like girls, I swear, and the old man, he never caught us, never even really saw our faces . . . he suspected I think but he could never proven it, the old . . ."
         ". . . man's who I feel the most sorry for, I hear he said to him, he said let me help you, let me get you help but the boy, he just walked away, didn't want to hear nothing . . ."
         ". . . anybody could have said would have made any difference as far as I'm concerned, once that witch got him back on that garbage it was all downhill from there . . ."
         ". . . was this time, I think, he stood up for me, he really did, I didn't even ask him to, really when I least expected it he came to my . . ."
         ". . . memory's not so good these days, I couldn't tell you half of what on back then . . ."
         ". . . the other guy who was with him, he just stands there like he's lost, like he doesn't know which way to turn and I swear for a second I thought he was going to peel right out after the first guy . . ."
         ". . . like that, you never knew where you stood with him, mercurial I guess you'd say . . ."
         ". . . did you see the news before you came here, they had pictures from the scene and ooh, it didn't look pretty at all, I guess if you want to do yourself in that's a pretty sure bet . . ."
         ". . . he didn't even mean to do it, probably just got stoned out of his mind and wandered right in front of the damn thing . . ."
         ". . . is, is that I didn't even know he had these problems, you know this was a total shock to me . . ."
         ". . . and him, we used to smoke up after school, but hell I thought he had quit even before I did, it makes you wonder, really, it really makes you . . ."
         ". . . know, I keep looking at that coffin and I can't, I can't make myself believe that it's him in there, I can't believe that's how . . ."
         ". . . do they know, tell me that, how do you really know what went on when nobody was looking . . ."
         ". . . for him in the obituaries for the longest time, don't ask me why, just a hunch I guess or maybe I'm just the pessimistic type . . ."
         ". . . who'd do anything for anybody, I tell you, this really is a damn shame, it's a shame it had to end this way, I can't even imagine . . ."
         ". . . what will happen now . . ."
         ". . . what are they going to do . . ."
         ". . . you think he knows? that anybody knows? Bull, ain't nobody going to ever find out what really happened, and you can tell everyone I said that . . ."

I Wouldn't Recognize God if He Dressed Up as a Clown and Smacked Me In the Face

         The diner was a low key affair, especially on a weeknight. The weekend early morning bustle, the students and the cops, the truckers and the night owls, were waiting somewhere in the future, poised just outside Saturday's doors, ready to trickle in just as another week slammed shut for good.
         So they had most of the place to themselves. Situated against the back wall in a sort of open booth, they were still out in the open enough that the darkening winter night was still plainly evident through the square vaguely tinted windows of the diner.
         Still, being out in the open failed to change their waitress' always magical habit of disappearing whenever they actually needed her.
         "You know," Brian nearly growled, "she comes here nearly every five seconds asking us if we need more coffee . . ."
         "Probably telepathic," Jack noted, raising an eyebrow at Will. The three of them were sitting at one corner of a fairly long and crowded table, with Brian on the end and Will and Jack across from each other.
         "I doubt that's it," Brian responded without turning to him, twisting in his seat to perhaps gauge where the waitress might be hiding. He had been hoping one of the other apparently fifty people would find try to summon her as well but it seemed that nobody really cared but him. It figured.
         "Or maybe because we've been here so often we just give off these . . . unconscious signals, and much like poker players she's learned to look for them and sense when we're going to-"
         "Okay, I get the point," Brian interrupted with a distracted sort of anger. He twisted again, craning his neck and using a free hand to loosen his tie a little more. The extra freedom of movement didn't help him ferret out her apparent hiding place any and he flopped back into his chair, sighing as he did so.
         "Jack'll keep an eye out for her," Will noted, avoiding the other man's eyes. "He's facing that way."
         In response Jack leaned back against the cushioned seat on the wall and gave Will an amused look. "Sure I will. Note," and he spread his hands over the space in front of him on the table, "how I have nothing here. That's because I've ordered nothing. Which means . . ." and he held up a finger like a lecturer, "that I'm under no obligation to stick around when, or if the bill finally comes."
         Will gave him a blandly neutral look before switching his glance over to a not too attentive Brian, saying, "You were right, at night he does turn into an asshole."
         "Told you," Brian responded while Jack tried to look unperturbed at this sudden teamup. "Like Cinderella gone horribly wrong."
         "Hm," Will squinted at Jack, as if seeing him through a distorted lens, "you think he'll turn into a comely woman once the sun comes up?"
         "Hey-"
         "Who cares . . . you've seen him like he is now. You want to keep that mental image in your head while hitting on him?"
         "Hey, the pickin's are slim around here, sometimes you have to turn to unorthodox sources, if you know what I'm saying."
         "Speak for yourself . . ." Brian said distractedly, staring at his coffee as he swirled it intently in its cup. A second later Will's words seemed to hit him and he abruptly stopped and laughed, placing the cup down with a clink to avoid spilling anything. "Okay that was one step too far."
         "One step?" Jack muttered.
         "I think it's time we changed the subject . . . fast," Brian commented to no one in particular. "Or I'm out of here, bill or no bill." Looking past Jack, he called out, "Brown, you've been awfully quiet over there. Coffee burn your tongue?"
         "Just takin' it all in," Brown said in an uncharacteristically laconic fashion, looking at Brian over the rim of the cup. "I forget how amusing you guys are when you're all in the same room together."
         "Because it's been such an amusing night," Jack replied somewhat archly, shifting in his seat to glance sideways at Brown. The two of them were a study in geometric contrasts, with Jack's squarish form forming a blocky counterpart to Brown's lean rectangle.
         "No I wouldn't say that," Brown said neutrally. His face seemed to collapse into a more guarded expression that Jack could only meet for a split second before returning his gaze to the tabletop before him.
         "I'm just glad it's over," Will interjected in an attempt to defuse the situation before it really started to sizzle. His eyes flickering to all three of them he said, "No offense, but I really hope we don't have to do this again anytime soon."
         "I'll second that," Brown murmured. Without looking up, he added, "I propose that whichever of us gets to the afterlife first tracks Don down and gives his ass a good kicking." Glancing up to meet three silent stares, he twisted his lips into a small smile and said, "Not that I'm advocating any of you make it a priority or anything."
         "Frankly I'd rather go through the whole enter the real world get married have lots of kids retire and live out the golden years thing before I start figuring out which vendettas I'm going to carry over from the material world, all told," Jack noted.
         "In that order?" Will asked innocently.
         Jack just shot him a look.
         Brian glanced at both of them and shook his head. His face clouded, like a thought he had been trying to suppress had forcibly fought its way to the surface. Directing his question to Brown he asked, "Think Don went up, you know, up there?"
         The stripped down nature of the question startled Brown, who wasn't really sure how to answer it. "You mean . . . heaven?" he asked, a little confused.
         "Yeah. Heaven. That's what I mean." Brian leaned one arm on the table, hooked his finger through the handle in the cup and regarded the cooling liquid with not a small degree of detachment. "I've been thinking. Killing yourself's a mortal sin and everything, right? And then," his voice gathering steam, "you've got the whole drug thing. I mean that's the whole body is a temple thing, right? You don't spoil it with foreign stuff . . ."
         "Like your coffee," Jack pointed out, his face deadly serious.
         "You know what I mean," Brian said tersely. "It's just . . ." he rested his head on his hand, fingers interlacing with his sandy colored hair, "it's just all I kept hearing from everyone, they all kept saying, he's in a better place he's in a better place . . . and I wanted to take them and shout How do you know?"
         "Would you like him to go to Hell?" Brown asked.
         "Of course not," Brian snapped, shaking his head. Then, with a little more humor, as if trying to counterbalance, "Not that I probably didn't tell him that at least once a week back in high school but . . ." sobering up again, "but seriously, Brown, think about it. You went to the same church I did, we were taught the same stuff. Where do you think he wound up?"
         "Where do I think?" Brown asked, pausing to take a sip of his coffee. Down on the other end of the table it grew briefly quiet and then a voice rang out and laughter punctured the silence again. Brown glanced over in that direction and made a face but said nothing else. "I think . . ." he replied slowly, "that Don, if he went anywhere, went wherever the rest of us are going to go when we bite it."
         "You think?" Will chimed in. "Mortal sin's a step below original, I always thought." It was so hard believe they were using discussing their friend in such academic terms. It felt so abstract. But perhaps they needed that distance, they needed to pull back a bit and slowly circle into the acceptance that he really was dead. Either way the realization would pull them in anyway, it was up to them whether it was a back breaking jolt, or a slow glide.
         "And I never thought God was that petty," Brown retorted. There was an edge of bitterness to his tone, like a long held ideal had been recently proven wrong. "And overall I think Don was a decent person . . . yeah he went wrong toward the end and maybe he'll have to pay for that a bit, but in the end I can't imagine God sitting there weighing everything you did on a scale and measuring your entire life against this one event." Shifting in his seat, he leaned back and said, "So the rest of you can debate all you like, but I'm fairly sure where he'll end up."
         Throughout his miniature speech he noticed Brian staring at him somewhat intently, as if waiting for him to let slip some vital piece of information about the nature of Time itself. The thought crossed his mind that he had no idea who knew about his working life and who didn't. Operating under the assumption that everyone was still believed he was shackled into the military, he hadn't bothered to either swear Jina to secrecy or tell her to clue him in on who she disseminated that sort of information to. Off the top of his head he could easily think of two people she would immediately tell. One he was fairly sure wouldn't say anything. The other was staring right at him.
         "I guess it doesn't matter now, too much," Will said slowly, as if not liking the taste of his own words. At least it shifted Brian's attention away from Brown, for which he was silently thankful. "I mean, what's done is done. Whether he's going to heaven or hell, it's done. There's nothing we can do about it."
         "That's damn fatalistic of you," Jack drawled, one finger idly drawing a squiggly line across the tabletop. He glanced up at Will with one eye, saying, "Whatever happened to the power of prayer?"
         "A friend of mine just died, you'll just have to forgive me if my optimism has taken a bit of a beating . . ." Will said with a markedly false cheer. Trying to kid about it did no good, but in the end it was better than sitting around filling up pans with tears.
         "Know what really bugs the hell out of me though?" Brian interjected suddenly, like he just sat down with them. His face flickered to each of them in turn, as if trying to read it own word in their faces. "That could have been any of us in there . . . seriously."
         Brown licked his lips and glanced at both Jack and Will fleetingly, not waiting to make eye contact. "Brian," he said, "Don killed himself, it wasn't some senseless accident-"
         "Goddammit, I know that," Brian nearly shouted. The other end of the table, a million miles away for all it mattered, never even wavered from their interlaced streams of conversation. "That's not what I mean . . ." leaning on the table with both forearms, as if proximity might give his words more merit, he said, "listen, guys, we all did some pretty stupid things, when we were younger, right? I know we did." He rubbed his face with one hand, as if trying to erase his own emotions. "And at the time I remember thinking, oh nothing bad will happen, I mean maybe not in so many words but all of us, we all thought the same things, right? Not that we were invincible, hell, we all knew standing in front of a train would get you killed, but all the other stuff, the stupid kids' stuff and I think about it now and . . . I realize . . ." he stopped, sad eyes seeming to stare right through them. "We were all damn lucky."
         "After a while, it wasn't luck anymore," Jack pointed out. "We learned some common sense. That's partially why we're all sitting here."
         "And he's not?" Brian asked, almost a challenge.
         Jack only shrugged. "You said it yourself, we didn't believe anything would happen to us. Don never realized that . . . do you think if he really knew what would happen when started whatever the hell drug he was doing, right from the moment he put the damn needle in his vein, do you think he would have-"
         "Okay, Jack," Brown suddenly ordered. The tone in his voice was that of a rubber band stretched so far that even the smallest twitch sent it into an orgy of blurred paroxysms. "That's enough," he finished, his monotone never wavering. Jack quivered as if shocked and abruptly cut off his sentence. One of Brown's hands that had been idly toying with a napkin was now clenched completely into a fist, the folds of the napkin poking out here and there from his hand, searching for any avenue of escape. But there was none. No natural escape. In the end, all you could do was slip sideways and hope that would be enough. It rarely was.
         Will, feeling increasingly that he was going to wind up in the middle of the most reluctant fight ever, tried to meet the gaze of his three friends, and found that none of them were looking at anything in particular. Brian was staring again into his near empty coffee cup, swirling the soggy remains around, perhaps trying to read his future, any future in the dirty brown swirls of the grains.
         "I don't know . . . you think you know someone," Brian murmured without looking up. "You think that none of this crap ever will happen to someone you know and . . ." he paused, the words clawing their way to life in his brain, "God, I thought, I figured if anyone, Don could beat that kind of thing. He wasn't some lowlife, some derelict scraping around for money to buy crack . . . he wanted the same stuff the rest of us did, get married, grow old, have kids, all that kind of crap. And . . . he didn't," Brian didn't appear to believe his own words. "Why didn't he? Why did he give up?" Now he was looking at everyone again and they were avoiding his gaze.
         Except Will, who made had made a mental promise to face this night unflinchingly, after his sorry performance at the wake. Don had deserved better than him hiding in the damned corner. "Maybe he stopped caring. Maybe he didn't want to fight anymore. He was only human."
         "He was our friend . . ." Brian countered. "And in the end I guess that didn't matter for crap," he finished somberly. His body jerked with a humorless laugh and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "You know, as much as I hated to see that, Jackie really did have the right idea . . ."
         "Tristian doesn't have the answers anymore than we do," Brown said suddenly. "He'll be the first to tell you that."
         "But he might know someone who does," Brian noted. The dull blobs of streetlamps seemed to reflected in his eyes.
         "They won't tell him," Brown insisted, not caring if he said too much. The last thing Tristian needed was people getting the wrong ideas. They weren't encyclopedias or a reference library for the soul. "Even if they knew. Trust me on this."
         Jack twisted in his seat to give Brown a questioning look, echoed from a different angle by Will. Without altering his expression, Brown added in an even voice, "I have some experience with this. Believe me."
         Nobody questioned it.
         "Why isn't he here, by the way?" Will asked, turning in his chair to glance around the diner, as if Tristian had taken a separate table and was secretly watching them from across the room. "He told me he was coming." There was a subdued urgency in his voice.
         "No, he said he'd try and make it," Brian corrected. "Which is Tristian-speak, means thanks for the offer but I'd rather be by myself."
         "I can't understand why," Jack commented. "I'm sure that wasn't the most uncomfortable moment in his entire life."
         "Yeah, I did feel bad for the guy," Brian said. "But, honestly, how many of you wanted to shout that question to someone, anyone?"
         "Hell, I'll be the first to admit he creeps me out most of the time," Jack added, "but if there was anyone who just might know everything, my bet would be on him."
         Will was shaking his head in disbelief. "Jesus, you guys don't get it, do you?"
         Brian and Jack both turned to stare at Will, who was showering them with an exasperated glare. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Brown merely watching him, a carefully casual expression on his face. Just the right amount of detached curiosity.
         "I can understand why Jackie asked him, because, hell, I mean I would have asked him too, but that . . . oh my God that was the wrong thing to do." His eyes darted to all three of them. "Don't you see?" he tried to explain. "She asked him and he didn't know . . . he didn't know . . ."
         "None of us would have known," Jack told him slowly.
         "But he's going to try to know!" Will almost hissed, trying to clamp down on the urge to shout. "I can't believe you guys . . . you know how he is, she asked him and now he's going to do his damndest to find some answers. Even if it kills him." Resting his hand on his palm, he said quietly, "God. It's like he's compelled, or something."
         "You don't know that," Brian retorted firmly. Perhaps he was trying to convince himself.
         "No. No, I don't," Will admitted after a second. "But when I get home, I'm going to call him and I'll bet you any amount of money he's not there. I don't know where the hell he'll be, but it won't be home."
         "Jina's," Brian said flatly. "I bet you he'll be there."
         Jack suddenly sighed and stretched, bending but not breaking the tension. "You know what, as much as I'd like to play this entertaining version of Where's Tristian, some of us have work tomorrow." He shrugged on his jacket, stepping around Brian to stand between him and Will. "But it's been a pleasure seeing you chaps," he said, tipping an imaginary cap.
         "Hold up," Brian said, digging into his pocket and taking out his wallet. "I'll walk out with you, I'm sick of waiting for this friggin' check." Doing some mental calculation, he tossed a small wad of money onto the table. "That should cover it."
         Will was doing the same thing. "I'd guess I'll head out as well." Glancing over at Brown, who seemed half asleep, he called out, "You coming, too?"
         Brown opened his eyes wider to look at Will, as if not realizing that was he being spoken to. Then with a groan, he lifted himself off the cushion, saying with a grunt, "Might as well." Throwing his own portion of the bill down, he crossed over to where the rest of them were now standing. "Shall we go, then?" he asked with the faintest of grins, like it had been his idea the entire time.
         So they said their goodbyes to the rest of the crew and after a few minutes were all standing in the chilled parking lot. The wind had died down and in their heavy jackets the weather felt merely mild, without any of the biting air freezing their exposed skin. There was a crispness to the world, like snow was all bound up invisibly, ready to be dumped at any time onto the too dry ground. The lights shining down on them seemed more like angular orbs than mere bright lamps, the beams conveying their own kind of mysterious chill, catching their frosted breath and seeming to hold it for just the faintest second in stasis before simply releasing it to wherever it had to go, letting it fade until it was the color of the air itself. It was all very clear and quiet, with barely a passing car to crack the silence.
         The four of them stood in a bent square type of formation for what seemed like a long time. Nobody said anything. Finally Brian gave a sort of cough, zippered his jacket a bit tighter and said to Brown, "You going to be around here for a while?"
         "At least until the funeral," Brown answered. "Beyond that, I can't say." His lip twitched. "Until I get called back or Tristian's generosity runs out, I suppose, whichever is first."
         The mention of Tristian's name caused Will to tense up, and he looked about to say something to Brown, but held his tongue. Brian merely nodded, as if Brown had just been confirming something for him and said, "All right. Maybe I'll give you a call, then. You know?"
         "You do that," Brown replied. Brian looked about to leave, so he added, "You take care," and extended his hand to shake.
         Brian did so and Jack followed suit right after, since Brian was his ride. It all felt very stiff and formal, like they were being straitjacketed by a sudden cloying maturity. Overdoing it for the cameras, so to speak. Never know who is watching.
         Will said nothing until the two of them watched Brian's taillights vanish into the darkness like a retreating dragon, the bloody luminance staining the cracks in the road, making them look like exposed veins.
         "You need a ride?" he asked, though Brown could tell that was just preamble.
         "Nah," Brown replied, dismissing the friendly offer with an equally amiable shrug. "I can find my own way back. He doesn't live that far."
         "You think he's really home?" Will asked suddenly. "I know what I said before but . . ."
         "I'll find out when I get there, I suppose," Brown told him casually.
         "Yeah, it's just . . . I'm worried, that's all. Right when Jackie asked him like that, I saw his face. I know what he wanted to do. And . . . I wish I could have stopped him, but . . ." a shaky laugh, "it wouldn't have mattered. Once he gets something into his head . . . hell, you know what he's like. It's just the way he is."
         "Don't worry, he'll be fine," Brown told him, keeping his voice almost unnaturally calm, not wanting to shatter this too fragile night.
         "I hope so," Will said, rubbing his arms and hugging himself for warmth. "Because . . . I'm just scared at what he might do, you know? How he'll take something and he'll follow it through to the bitter end, no matter what it does to him. He'll do it."
         "I don't doubt it," Brown murmured. "But only if we let him."
         "Yeah," Will replied. Neither of them were looking at each other, not moving but already heading in opposite directions. With a small smile, he added, "If only it was that easy, right?" Stifling a sudden yawn, he said through the motion, "Ah, God, you know what though, he's a big boy . . . we just have to hope he doesn't do anything stupid."
         Brown only nodded, lost in his own thoughts. Somehow he had managed to place himself several steps from Will, hands jammed deep into his pockets, one foot already poised to begin the hike back home.
         "Ah, you're going to be here for the funeral, right?" Will asked hesitantly. "I thought I heard you say that."
         "Yeah, I'll be there," came Brown's distant reply.
         "Uh, I guess I'll see you there, then. Okay?" Will looked about to offer his hand to Brown, but when he realized the man barely knew he was there anymore, he merely muttered a half-hearted, "You take care, all right?"
         "You too," Brown said, already turning to walk away.
         After he had taken a few steps, he heard Will's clattering footsteps suddenly stop.
         "Joe," he called out.
         "Yes?" Brown said, turning halfway. The other man already seemed lost in shadow, caught behind the looming bulk of the diner. Inside the patrons seemed to be reenacting some weird silent movie, all hand motions and lip-synching, a script without a plot.
         "You'll talk to him, right? Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid?"
         "Of course," Brown replied easily. He took another step backwards, letting a streetlamp fall over him, unaware of the way it softened his features into something almost inhumanly pliable. "I told you, don't worry about a thing." His face creased into a smile Will couldn't possibly see. "These days, me and Tristian are very much on the same wavelength."