Pittsburgh, 7:30am CBS Radio News. “More than four hundred people are homeless today after a massive fire swept through an apartment complex in downtown New York early this morning. After almost four hours of intensive work to suppress the flames, teams of fire fighters from across the city have now successfully contained the inferno that broke out at Yorkton Suites on 9th Ave and 43rd Street. Authorities are calling the blaze the worst residential fire to occur within the city in more than sixty years. So far, thirteen people including four children have been declared dead, dozens more are seriously burnt or injured, and as many as fifty individuals have been reported missing. The fire began at approximately 4am EST on the fourth floor of the eight-storey building, spreading rapidly to engulf two-thirds of the complex in less than forty minutes. Most of the tenants were forced to flee to safety down the outdoor fire escapes or the main stairwell, while others on lower floors leapt from windows or balconies. Investigators say that it is too soon to yet determine the cause of the blaze which has already done millions of dollars worth of damage, both to corporate and personal property. An emergency shelter has been established for the displaced individuals in the nearby Baile Adams Arena, where those with minor injuries are currently receiving care, as emergency rooms are filled to capacity. Emergency services have established an information hotline for relatives and friends of the displaced tenants, and indicate that they will be contacting the families of those injured or otherwise in need. In other news this morning…” ~~~ Baile Adams Arena, New York. 8:00am. Justin’s POV It wasn’t until after I’d been brought to the arena, to the urban refugee camp, that the enormity of what had happened began to set in. It was the realization that I had absolutely nothing, knew no one who could help me, and had no way of contacting anyone who could, that sent me into a descending spiral of panic. I had never been so alone. Not ‘alone’ like I’d felt as the plane had left the runway en route to New York that first time. Not ‘alone’ like I’d felt every time I watched Brian disappear though the airport security gates when his all-too-infrequent visits came to an end. Not ‘alone’ like I felt as I’d lain down night after night in my small, cold bed, thinking of the bedroom in Britin and of what could have been. This was ‘alone’ as in pure, desolate isolation. It was as if I’d fallen into a parallel universe in which I’d never existed in the first place. It was a world so foreign to me, so horrifying and alien, it didn’t seem as if it could exist at all. And yet it did. The crush and swell of terrified, angry, desperate people all around me was real. The smell of smoke and burning that had soaked into our skin and hair and clothing was real. The mournful, grief-stricken wailing of broken people, and the expressions of naked despair, distress and hopelessness were all real. And I was alone in the midst of it. Forgotten. The panic attack came on suddenly; it had been so long since I’d had one that I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late. In the months following my bashing, and within days of moving in with him, Brian had learnt to identify the signs that an attack was imminent, and he knew how to prevent them. And when they couldn’t be prevented, Brian had always been there to calm and placate me, to hold me patiently and whisper gentle words against my skin until the black waves of terror ebbed away into stillness. But now, as my vision clouded and I fought to suck air into my starving lungs, the waves crashed over my head and pulled me into their abysmal depths until I knew I was drowning. Through my panic, I became aware of a flurry of movement around me, a buzz of urgent voices, and a supporting arm around my waist, lowering me to the floor. Something smelling of sterilizer was pressed over my nose and mouth, and I was told to breathe deeply. After a few moments, I no longer felt like I was suffocating, my vision cleared, and my body became willing to obey my brain once more. I saw the man knelling next to me, holding the plastic mask to my face, was wearing a dark blue EMS uniform. “Give him some room,” the man ordered to the crowd of curious onlookers who had accumulated around me. He asked me if I could walk, and when I nodded, he lifted me slowly to my feet and helped me stumble over to an area designated to first aid. I allowed myself to be wrapped in a blanket and settled down against the wall on what looked like a blue yoga mat. “Looks like you had a bit of a rough night,” the man commented gently, crouching down in frount of me and indicating the line of butterfly bandages that had been applied to the gash on my forehead. “Did you live in the apartment building? What’s your name, son?” “Justin Taylor,” I replied automatically, and as if it had reminded me I had the ability to communicate, my thoughts came tumbling out in a jumbled slew of words. “I live in one of the bachelor suites…I mean, I lived…My studio was in there, too…I don’t know anyone in New York very well. No one at home knows what happened; no one knows I’m here…I need to tell someone…I need to talk to them…” “Easy, son,” the man soothed gently, evidently intent on preventing another panic attack, laying a kind but firm hand on my shoulder. I looked into his face for the first time and saw he was older, may be fifty or so, with soft features and hazel eyes almost the same colour as Brian’s. It was that recognition that seemed to quell the storm threatening to erupt again. “Now listen, Justin,” he said gently. “We’re going to make sure your family knows what happened and that you’re here and you’re safe. We’ll ask that someone come here to be with you. Until then, I want you to stay here with us, alright? We’re here to help you.” I looked at him and nodded in response, and the man gave my shoulder a squeeze before getting up to help another casualty. I was still wearing only what I had been sleeping in, although somewhere along the way I’d managed to acquire an ill-fitting pair of neglected running shoes. Even with the blanket wrapped tightly around my body, I was still shaking with cold, with a chill I knew had nothing to do with temperature. When I closed my eyes I saw again the image that seemed to have been tattooed onto the inside of my eyelids; a blood red sun rising through the smoke and haze, long crimson fingers penetrating the miasma to caress the cinders of a world that had turned to ash. ~~~ New York. 11:20pm. By the time he actually came for me, my distorted mind had managed to turn every dark-haired man within my sight range into him. I saw him tending to casualties, I saw him carrying in emergency supplies, I saw him with a news crew interviewing tenants, and I saw his face in a photograph on the board of missing persons. He was everywhere but simultaneously no where at all. I had lost all track of time. It could’ve been a few minutes that I’d been sitting here; it may have been several days. Years. Decades. I was overwhelmed with the sense that I’d somehow fallen into a world in which I didn’t belong. So when I saw his dark head bobbing above the heads of the milling crowds of people, I told myself it couldn’t possibly be him. It was another man; another tall, brown-haired man in jeans and a leather bomber jacket. I closed my eyes despairingly, only to see the image of the burning building projecting across my mind once more. When I opened my eyes again, he was making a beeline for me, effortlessly sidestepping people and objects, his eyes fixed on my face, his expression the exact same one he’d worn when he’d found me after the bomb at Babylon. But it was him. It was Brian. The realization was too staggering to try and comprehend, and yet I found myself surging to my knees, using the wall to push myself up, wanting desperately to reach him before the apparition vanished and I was left alone again. When he was less than eight feet from me and showing no signs of dissipating, I abandoned the attempt to stand and held my arms out to him instead. In one sinuous motion, he seized me under the arms and hauled me bodily to my feet, his own arms wrapped all the way around my back and shoulders, crushing me to his chest so tightly I could barely breathe. Somehow I managed to get my arms around his neck and I clung there as if for dear life, standing on my toes to press the whole length of my body against his. The relief was almost too much to bear. “Jesus Christ, Justin,” Brian breathed hoarsely, his voice hitching slightly. I felt one of his hands on the back of my head, grasping a handful of my hair as if he needed something to hold onto. “Thank God you’re OK. You should see the shit they’re showing on the news. We were scared out of our fucking minds.” “I wanted to call,” I choked out, feeling emotion rising inside me like a tidal wave. “I don’t have a phone…I don’t have anything. I was so scared no one would know what happened. I thought no one would come for me.” “Why would you think that?” Brian asked, and he sounded genuinely distressed and upset. He pulled away from me and took my face in his hands almost urgently, staring hard into my eyes. “I love you, you stupid little twat. Did you really think I would just leave you here to fend for yourself?” “No. I dunno know,” I replied brokenly, letting Brian turn my face gently in his hands so he could examine the bruises and the cut across my forehead. “I was scared and confused. I had a panic attack and I couldn’t think straight.” “I would never want you to be alone like that, Justin. If I had to fight my way through the fire itself, I would do it just to be with you.” I felt tears stinging at my eyes and I screwed them shut, locking my arms around Brian’s neck and pressing my face against the warm, rough skin of his throat. I felt Brian’s hand under the flimsy material of my t-shirt, rubbing small circles into the bare skin of my back. He was so familiar; his actions, his touch, his feel, and his scent were all so real and reassuring. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here,” Brian whispered to me after a while. He let me go, undid the zipper of his bomber jacket and shrugged out of it. Underneath, he was wearing a thin, burgundy long-sleeved shirt. He held the jacket out to me. “Put this on. I don’t want you freezing to death out there.” When I hesitated, knowing that he would be the one freezing if I accepted it, Brian moved behind me and slid my arms into the sleeves, pulling my hands through the cuffs. The jacket was slightly too large for me, but it was warm with Brian’s body heat and it smelt like him; leather and cigarette smoke and his expensive aftershave. “Where’re we going?” I asked softly as Brian took my hand and began to lead me through the chaos of the arena. “I’m taking you to a hotel tonight.” Brian replied, as he pulled me against him and put a protective arm around my waist as we navigated our way through a particularly dense crowd of people. “I can’t get a flight back to Pitts for us until tomorrow. And I don’t think you’re really fit for travelling today.” “But I don’t want to go back…What about me?” I asked. “What about my art? This…this was my future, Brian.” I spoke the words as the realization hit me like a sledgehammer. Somehow, I’d convinced myself that all this could be fixed…that the fire was just a setback. But I realized now that the fire hadn’t just destroyed my home, my studio, and everything I’d ever owned and worked for. It had burnt its way into my life, igniting my hopes and engulfing my dreams, leaving only dust and the glow of cinder. I was an orphan of the ashes. We were outside now, the bright spring sunshine making me squint, and the cool air nipping at the exposed skin of my legs. Brian stopped and turned to me, taking me in his arms again and nuzzling my hair aside to kiss the side of my face gently before whispering softly against my ear. “This is your future, Sunshine. You just need to find a new way of getting there.” Brian pulled away slightly and leaned down to press his forehead against mine. “But you won’t find it digging through these ashes. You’ll have to start over; I know you’ve lost things you can’t replace, but the insurance money will be enough to get you started again. Come home with me, at least for now. I want to help you.” “I don’t want to start over!” I wailed, unable to bear the implications of what I was being told. “I worked so fucking hard for this! This was everything I had! I sacrificed so much…” “I know how much you sacrificed,” Brian said softly, and the truth of his words touched something deep inside me. “I know how badly you wanted this. And you know how badly I wanted you to have it. And so now you know how hard I’ll try to make sure you come back in a blaze of glory.” “Christ, Brian,” I whispered, feeling suddenly so exhausted I could barely think. I leaned against him again and he hugged me close, his fingers caressing the hair at the nape of my neck. “You are a master at the art of simplicity…When’s it going to be my turn to do something incredible and life-altering for you?” “Come home with me,” Brian answered simply, “and you will.”