He was instantly awake. He rolled out of bed and pulled his jeans over his hips in smooth movements.

Bill:  Stay put.

The dogs led him to the door, Woodrow calmly and alertly and Augustus
with his goofy lope.  Augustus did his usual, falling down the last three
stairs or so.  I followed Bill at a distance and stopped on the upper
landing in time to see him open the door to Elmore, Ryan and a frightfully
wasted-looking Jade.

Ryan:  ...so I drove to the house to tell young Elmore we were leaving and
instead he tossed his kitbag in the back and came along with us.

Elmore:  Don't see nobody now, with the bar gone ain't no reason to hang
on.

Deb:  What in hell is Jade doing out of the hospital??!!

I barrelled down the stairs and peeked into the blankets Ryan carried.
Jade was whitefaced but composed.  She grinned, managed a wave.

Jade:  I'm okay.  Really.

Deb:  Sure you are.  You know what your bed looks like, Ryan...

Ryan:  I know, lass.  Upstairs with ye, darlin'.

Ryan and Jade disappeared up the stairs.  I listened to Ryan's measured
footsteps as he traversed the upper hallway.  Once I was sure he had Jade
settled, I was able to turn my attention to Elmore.

Deb:  Don't you see...anybody...anymore?

He knew who I meant.

Elmore:  Ain't been no answer over there in 'bout a week.

Deb:  That's odd.

Elmore:  Might be they went on outa town, Ma.  Don't matter anyway.  I got
t'missin' you an' Bill...lonely in that big house all by m'lonesome.

Bill gave him a hearty slap between the shoulderblades, which hurled
Elmore forward a step or three.

Bill:  Long's ya turned up. boy...ya can run the Corner again.

Elmore:  Get outa town, man!

I was removing myself from the conversation...watching and listening to
inner voices.  Seeing Elmore and Bill together again, like some goofy 
father son combination, felt good.  But there was more to the feeling than
just contentment.

I'd always had strong survival instincts and now, even half awake, they
were functioning perfectly.  These instincts, the selfsame ones that had
told me Bill was safe in the first place, were now warning me to be on the
lookout for something which would greatly upset him.

He joined me in our bedroom after a beer or three with Elmore and Ryan.  He
seemed more than pleased to have his houseful back again.  Granted, he
tried to cover up by bitching about playing hotelkeeper to the masses and
needing to bring in food and beer by the truckload for Elmore, but I knew
it was all an act.  I had learned it over time.

Still...I wasn't surprised to wake up an hour or so later and find that he
had gone...  

They had all returned: Elmore, Ryan, Jade.  All the strays that he 
and Deb had collected were under one roof again, as perhaps it was meant 
to be.  Unfortunately, even though they were close to hand again, 
underneath his protective wing, the uneasy feeling that had come over 
him the day before had not abated, rather had gotten stronger.  He 
found himself wandering the property in the cool, damp morning, 
swatting mosquitoes and trying to clear his head.

He was standing in the barn, five in the morning, watching the sun rise 
and contemplating putting down more feed for the cats.  Abruptly, he broke 
the silence, his only audience the four-legged eating machines rubbing 
against his ankles.

Bill:  Jesus Christ, what the hell is this?

The distinct feeling of pulling away, tearing…leaving.  He grabbed 
for a support beam before falling on his ass, unsteady, reeling with 
intense sensation. 

Deb:  I always thought you were dizzy.  Now I have proof.

She’d appeared behind him, standing in the open door of the barn.  
He started to reply, but the feeling hit him again and he pushed himself 
back to an upright position.

Deb:  You okay?

Her joking tone turned instantly to concern, yet he couldn’t 
answer.  There were no words to explain this sudden emptiness.  He 
turned, looking for something that would send her back to the house 
without demanding anything of him.  

Bill:  Don’t need any shit from you.

His usual low growl sounded shakier than he’d meant it to, and 
knew she’d pick up on it. That damned Mom Radar of hers.  He broke eye 
contact as quickly as he’d made it, staggered over to the bowls, sea of 
cats following him.  

Bill:  What the hell is this, the Five Hundred Cats of Bartholomew Cubbins?

Deb:  Hats, Bill.  The Five Hundred Hats.  What’s wrong with you?  

Bill:  Nothin’.

Deb:  Bullshit.  You’re feeding the cats again.

Bill:  You keep pesterin’ me about it and I’m gonna be feedin’ the cats 
to the dogs.

Deb:  Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Bill:  Go to bed.  Let men work.

Deb:  Show me the men.  I love watching them sweat.

Bill:  Gonna paddle your ass.

He took hold of one of the fifty pound bags of Cat Chow, busied 
himself with trying to open it.  The graceful movements of the hands 
had diminished to trying to simply hold on to the bag while tearing 
it open unceremoniously, angrily.  As he was fighting desperately for 
balance, Deb walked over, took it from him, and opened it easily.  

Deb:  What’s wrong with you?

Her tone had softened.  He was dismayed to realize that she had 
gotten into his space.

Bill:  Not a damned thing.

Deb:  Is that why you’re having trouble standing, even simply opening 
a bag of cat food?

She reached out to touch his shoulders.  Had he noticed it was coming, 
he would have dodged away from her hand.  Instead he stood stock 
still, unwilling to stay and unable to move away.  He felt the fingers 
moving, tracing circular patterns between his shoulder blades, closed 
his eyes. The reason for all this madness lay just beyond his perception, 
the touch soothing yet distracting.

Deb:  You’re scaring me, Billy.

Bill:  You’re scarin’ yourself.  I’m just tired.  Go t’bed. 

She could feel the tension in his shoulders.  The old cliché came to 
mind, ‘vibrating like a live wire.’  Normally, if the man were any more 
relaxed he’d have been a corpse.  And he was never tired.

Deb:  And you’re a damn liar, too, but you’re not going to tell me 
until you’re ready.  So you keep jackin’ me around and I’ll wait 
until you’re ready to talk.  If you’re ready to talk.

Bill:  Don’t hold your breath.

Deb:  Do I look stupid?  Good night.

She kissed him briefly on the cheek.  He felt as he looked, chiseled 
from marble, yet he managed a faint nod good night.  She left him alone 
with his thoughts.  Alone with the cats.  Dolly bawled, lovesick as 
always.  Rama, her mate, pawed at the floor and spat at Bill.

Bill:  Goddamn animated carpet.  Shut the hell up.

Rama snorted threateningly.  Bill had gotten into pissing contests with 
the male in the time that he’d had him, but this was not going to be one 
of those times.

Bill:  Can’t think in the ark.  Get more done on a runway at high noon.

He waited a few minutes, pawing at the cats and grumbling at the 
llamas, then walked back to the house.  She was asleep, as he’d hoped, 
a steadying presence but not a questioning one.  He stretched out on his 
back beside her, staring at the ceiling, the uneasy feeling settling 
over him, deepening in his bones, as if something core had been cut 
from him.  He rested a hand on her hip, and she moved closer in her sleep.
His voice came in a whisper.

Bill:  What the hell is this?

Not more than a week later I had the surprise of my life.  As I sat,
tensed in front of the computer trying to order bar fixtures, who should
walk into my kitchen but the Dawg - Sam himself.  He was disheveled,
white and drawn, strained, he seemed exhausted.  He behaved like a man 
with a mission, that mission being to get into my refrigerator and into 
Bill's beer.

Deb:  Sam?  What are you doing here?

There was something else about the Dawg, over and above his beaten
appearance, that troubled me.

The Dawg was alone.

Deb:  Sam...where's...?

Sam turned to me fully, and the look on his face stopped me in my tracks.

TO BE CONTINUED....

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