Bill spent the rest of the morning assembling his documentation on the Peterson case to hand off to Isakson. The county prosecutor was going to have a field day with this case and he wasn't sure the firm wanted a black eye representing such a notorious shyster.

He sat back in his chair and wondered what they were serving for lunch out at Barnhill. Could Stan have drugged the boy, raped him and then shot the mother? The facts didn't come together like that, the timeline was wrong, but Barnes had tampered with it ... would they ever know the truth?

Stan's body had been found sprawled on the floor of the hallway outside Tim's room and the boy's mother was in the doorway to her bedroom. What had really occurred? They needed forensic evidence to rebuild the puzzle. A good forensics team would have noted blood spatter patterns which would determine where the shooter was and the angle of the shot. Barnes had given him none of that.

Bill's stomach felt empty and he went out in the hallway to see if Sonny wanted to go have lunch. No, she was still out, perhaps trying to track down Ed Avery, he was on his own. Candice was at the front desk when Bill decided to leave, but she wasn't alone. Sitting against the wall reading the newspaper was a man ... a mountain man.

There were still a few of those around, ones who lived high in the hills with their families and hunted out of season to feed their hungry brood. It was a lifestyle made glamorous in movies but Bill imagined the reality was pretty harsh. At least the man didn't seem to smell bad.

"Candice, who is the gentleman over in the corner?" Bill asked.

"He said he was waiting for Sonny. He didn't give me his name."

Wonderful, how informative. Candice wouldn't survive in a temp agency so what the hell was she doing here? Bill approached the man with a smile.

"I'm Bill Metzger and Sonny is my assistant. Can I help you with something?"

"Hello, Bill ... I guess you don't remember me. But Sonny said you need my services and I was just out with some guys in the woods nearby so I came on in."

Bill showed no signs of recognition and the man smiled. "I guess the disguise is pretty good. Ed Avery at your service."

"Ed? Good heavens, Ed ... your own mother wouldn't recognize you."

"That's the idea, what can I do for you?"

"How's about some lunch, do you have the time?" Bill asked.

"All the time in the world, business is kinda slow, but I'll explain that later." Ed said. "Lead the way."

Okay, Bill wasn't about to take Ed into any of the places near the office. If he was seen with the man in his current state the questions would be endless. Ed seemed to understand the difficulty his appearance caused.

"How about we go to Top's? I could eat a steak if you're buying."

"Top's it is. Where did you leave your horse, or is it a mule this time?" Bill chuckled.

"Funny man, let's take your car."

Top's was on the other side of the Interstate and Bill was sure no one would recognize him there. The crowd was usually small until Happy Hour, mostly truckers and bearded guys which meant Ed fit right in. It was Bill who would look a little out of place with a coat and tie. He pulled the cloth from around his neck and slid the tie in his pocket, and then they went inside.

They took a table at the back, a private place where they could talk. A waitress brought them menus and said she would be back for their order. Bill looked across at Ed and smiled. The man went all the way into the roles he played. A beard like that would take months to grow. This must be some undercover story and he couldn't wait to hear it.

"I know the mountain man image threw you a curve ball, but I fit right in with the guys that were around me," Ed explained. "The name Brandon Wilkes ring a bell?"

"The movie producer?"

"He is that, but did you know he has one of the largest ranches in Lincoln County? Seventy-eight thousand acres, an obscene amount of land for one man to own. I guess he bought it on a whim or he thought it would be a good tax write off. Any way you look at it that ranch is a major headache to manage.

"So he drives around in his fancy 4 x 4 and sees carcasses here and there, figures he has poachers killing the wildlife. A few stray cows, deer and the occasional buffalo tells him he has a problem that needs solving. That's where I come in, so I infiltrated the illegal hunters group and they get busted.

"But now I have Mr. Wilkes all excited that I did such a wonderful job and he wants me to stay on. As I said, the PI business is slow so that's what I've been up to. So please tell me there is some real work that needs doing so I can get rid of this beard and come back to civilization."

"Oh, I kinda like the beard, but it does make you stand out in a crowd," Bill said. "I have a murder case with more holes in it then you can imagine. The local sheriff is a major roadblock to the discovery of how it really happened ... "

Bill went on to explain the case, even as the waitress took their order and delivered the food to the table. Ed listened to the details as they ate and Bill knew there would be a whole list of questions when he was done talking.

Ed had spent a dozen years in the military, most of them as a military policeman who investigated crimes. He was experienced in forensics which helped him solve a lot of those cases but that had eventually been his downfall. He made enemies in high places because his job uncovered criminal activity in the highest ranks of Army life. That blocked any future promotion so as a Captain he retired and went into business for himself.

As a civilian he performed wonders and his name was bandied around in legal circles. Ed was the go to guy for difficult situations. Bill couldn't think of a better person to deal with a crooked sheriff and Barnes was proving to be just that.

"So the crime scene is a month old," Ed said. "I'd still like to see it after I go over the reports."

"I'll be getting more information in a few days," Bill said.

"The Sheriff, do you have any idea what his angle is?"

"Stan Little was a cousin, but that can't be the whole story. Barnes went out of his way to hide the man's record which leads me to believe that something happening now is related to those past events."

Ed nodded. "A good assumption. At least it gives us a place to start and that leads me to ask how much time do we have?"

"Several months but I can't afford to keep you on retainer forever," Bill said. "Most of this will come out my pocket since the case is pro bono."

Ed smiled. "You like the kid, don't you?"

"He's a good boy in a bad situation created by adults. It's an unfair fight and I'm always for the underdog."

"Well so am I," Ed said. "We'll go for the knockout and worry about the bills later. And since Barnes is at the center of all this I guess I had better start with him."

"You be careful, Ed. Barnes must certainly think he is above the law or at least that his is the only law that matters. His deputies are just as bad so I wouldn't trust any of them. I don't know how close you can get to any of these people without arousing suspicion."

"I have my ways," Ed said.

Bill pulled out his wallet and handed Ed a wad of cash. "Expenses, at least for now. How do you plan to make your approach?"

"I guess with a wad like this I ought to go get drunk. Cops always have a bar they frequent."

"That's no secret, its Crystal's out on State Highway 42. It's only two miles from the jailhouse and the Sheriff's office. But I'm not sure you should go in there looking like that, you might get arrested."

"Arrested ... you know, that's one way to get a foot in the door."

"That's crazy," Bill said.

"And your point is? I'll snoop around and call you tomorrow so I can come in and look at those reports. Your phones aren't tapped are they?"

"Jeez ... I don't know," Bill said.

"I'll send someone around to check it out. You still live above the office?"

"I do, how did you know that?"

"Stop acting so shocked. My stock in trade is what I know, and more importantly, what I remember. So go play lawyer and let me do my job. But before you go I need to arrange a signal with you.

"If at any time I call and ask if you're going hunting this fall then you'll know everything is going well and we can arrange to meet. But if I say I bagged a deer out of season and need a lawyer you'll know I'm having problems and you can ignore anything I might say after that."

"What's this all about?" Bill asked.

"Just a precaution, I don't want you taking any risks just because they got to me."

"They?"

"Oh come on, Bill. We're playing around with men who carry guns, this is serious business. This guy Barnes isn't the sheriff of Mayberry and his deputies carry more than one bullet. If he's doing something illegal chances are his men are involved to some degree. Whatever it is involves money, and isn't that what most crimes are about?"

"Too true," Bill said.

"Well, thank you kindly for the steak," Ed said. "Now I better go on and get to work."

"You came here with me, where do you want to be dropped off?"

"Right here is fine. I have my mule in the barn out back. We shouldn't been seen together."

"Okay, stay in touch," Bill said. "Oh, what about that look at the crime scene?"

"Give me two days to get up to speed and gather some facts, then we can go have a look. You should notify the Sheriff that you want to look the place over, make sure he sends a deputy to let us in."

"Then they'll know who you are," Bill said.

"No, I'll come in a disguise they won't forget to throw them off the scent. Just make the arrangements and wait for my call."

Bill paid the check up at the front counter and went back to leave a tip. By then Ed had disappeared. How could a bearded mountain man in a red and black checked shirt just up and vanish? Bill had to smile ... the man was an enigma, but a good one.

He left the restaurant and walked back towards his car, but as he pulled out his keys he noticed the patrol car sitting in the shade under the trees. Now what, Bill thought. The door on the patrol car opened and a deputy stepped out. The face looked familiar but he couldn't remember why.

"Mr. Metzger," The deputy said and Bill suddenly remembered. Corporal Marsh from the jail.

"Hello, Corporal," Bill said. "What brings you over here?"

"I ... I wanted to ask how the boy was doing. I'm sorry about yesterday, you caught us by surprise. The Sheriff doesn't like surprises, and you know ... well, he chewed my ass out pretty good for that."

"There was little you could do, Corporal. The court issues orders and we all have to follow them. The Sheriff knows that, he had no reason to come down on you."

"I suppose not. I have nothing against the kid, you understand. He's got a hard road ahead and there's no reason to treat him badly." Marsh paused to collect his thoughts. "He's probably better off over at Barnhill."

"He is, they will take good care of him," Bill said. "Are you supposed to be following me today?"

"How did ... yeah, the Sheriff ordered me to do just that."

"I don't understand our Sheriff," Bill said. "Witherspoon isn't my only case so I have to run here and there. He's wasting his time and yours if he thinks I'm going to pull a rabbit out of my hat. Too much of this following me around might induce me to file a complaint about harassment. What's his game?"

"I surely don't know," Marsh said. "If I did I'd probably tell you."

"Then you'd get in trouble with your boss," Bill said.

"Screw him, what he did to the boy is just plain wrong."

What did he do, Bill asked himself? Marsh might have some sympathy for Tim but he wasn't going to reveal any deep dark secrets about the Sheriff.

"Timothy is under medical care now," Bill said. "I suppose we'll have several months of evaluation and planning before this ever gets to court. I am going to ask the Sheriff about visiting the crime scene later this week and I guess he'll assign a deputy to accompany us."

"I did the original report," Marsh said. "But the Sheriff took my information and wrote one of his own, he does that sometimes. The house is still locked up and sealed. The coroner was the last one in there. What do you need to see?"

"The doctors at Barnhill will want to know what kind of life Tim had in that house. I want to see his room. I don't know why the bodies were so close together. Some things don't make sense."

"None of it made sense to me," Marsh said. "Boys don't kill their mothers very often. I might understand why he killed Stan. The man was a royal asshole."

"You knew Stan?

"Uh ... yeah, he was a friend of the Sheriff's. Used to come in the office like he owned the place."

"Stan was his cousin," Bill said.

"Oh ... I didn't know that. Look, I shouldn't be talking to you about this case or I'll get in trouble."

"Not from me, but I understand. I appreciate your concern about the boy. There were some bad things done to him and I'm sure we don't know the half of it yet."

"Yeah ... bad things," Marsh said.

Bill smiled. "Just so you know I plan to be in my office the rest of the day. That will save you the trouble of following me. You take care, Corporal."

"Thanks," Marsh said and returned to his patrol car.

Bill opened his door and slid into the driver's seat. Now what the hell was that all about?

So Marsh wrote the report, or at least the original one. That meant he was the first responder to the scene. The Sheriff's office didn't have any detectives on staff. The county was too small to afford that kind of help which meant the Sheriff would have to call the state if he needed investigators. But Bill was sure that rarely happened.

The coroner's office would handle the forensics. Bill had seen the "forensic specialist" they had in court. The man came off like he'd had a class or two on the subject but he was no expert. But the coroner was elected just like the Sheriff ... the county had really screwed up on this one.

It seems Marsh had a conscience. That didn't mean they had a friend in the Sheriff's office, but the Corporal seemed on edge, as if something was bothering him. He knew something was wrong in this case. Perhaps Tim would remember Marsh as the man who had first arrived on the scene.

The Sheriff was getting nervous if he was having someone follow Bill around. It was a good thing Ed had taken off when he did. Too many pieces of the puzzle needed solving but the information kept on flowing.

Ed had watched from behind the restaurant's dumpster as Bill spoke with the deputy. He wondered what that was all about. It seemed like a friendly conversation so perhaps Bill knew the man. He would have to keep the image of that deputy in his mind, but now it was time to change disguises.

Ed walked up the roadway to the underpass which took him beneath the Interstate. He had chosen Top's for a reason, although he didn't mention that to Bill. The motel was tucked in off the service road beyond the exit ramps, and Ed walked across the deserted parking lot to Room 9.

He glanced at his old Jeep as he fished his out his room key. The vehicle had about a hundred eighty thousand miles on it but was still in great shape. It was perfectly non-descript enough for a PI he liked it that way. Ed opened the door to his room a crack and stuck his head inside. The pencil was still on the floor where he had left it.

When he'd left this morning after checking in Ed had closed the door only far enough to slide his hand back in the room and drop the pencil. If someone had been in the room they would have pushed the door open and the pencil would have been pushed to the furthest arc of the door's sweep.

He had too much of his gear in the room, although the majority of it was under the floor mats of the Jeep. His kit was filled with electronic toys and the ever present box of disguises. Ed stripped off until he was naked and picked up his makeup kit before heading for the bathroom.

Disguises were expensive, especially the good long lasting ones. Even Bill had been fooled making it a real test of Ed's skill as a makeup artist. He set the kit on the counter in the bathroom and looked at his image in the mirror. Yeah, the hair looked damn real.

Ed reached into his kit and extracted a tool. Pulling back the long hair above his right ear he pried away a corner of the fake beard. Carefully working the tool under the nylon mesh impregnated with spirit gum, he pealed the beard away towards his chin and then up towards his left ear.

He pulled out a pack of swabs impregnated with spirit gum remover and began to wipe down the mesh. His face still held blobs of the glue here and there but the prosthetics always came first, they were just too valuable. It took him ten minutes to remove all the glue and he set the beard aside to dry.

The wig was a lot easier since long hair always seemed to hold itself in place. Ed used the tool across his forehead and pried the glue strips from his skin. He shook the hair out, cleaned off the glue, and looked up at the reality of his image in the mirror. His whiskers had started to grow in and there was a slight stubble growing on the dome of his head.

The glue peeled away, Ed stepped into a hot shower and began to wash. After he was done he toweled off and wiped the fog off the mirror before he shaved his face. The stubble on his head he would leave, it was time to let his hair grow back. He wiped down the counter and tossed the wet towels back in the tub.

The maid service in the motel would be around in the morning, but by then his kit and suitcase would be back in the Jeep. He wouldn't leave a trace of his existence anywhere if he could help it. For now he used the television remote to turn on a soap opera and stretched out naked on the bed. He wanted a nap but he knew his mind wouldn't allow him to sleep. He had to ponder this new assignment.

Crooked sheriffs were such a cliché, but they were out there. Bad judges were another thing and Ed had met a few of those. The military had taught him not to fear authority but to work with it. He had learned a lot of lessons while he was in uniform, not all of them good.

He wanted a look in that house because the crime scene would tell him a lot, even a month after the shooting. The choice of a .22 as the murder weapon wasn't that unusual for a young killer. The rifle was probably the only weapon the boy had ever fired and he was familiar with it. Not a powerful killing machine but nine shots did seem a little over the top.

Nine bullets indicated a lot of anger, but in a semi-automatic it only required pulling the trigger to vent that rage. Ed would probably have done the same thing if the target had just raped him. Stan was a fool to leave a gun in the boy's hands.

But only fools did drugs. What kind and how much they would have to find out. He would bet the boy had some of those answers but Bill had said they might have to get a court order to exhume the man and see what traces were left in Stan's body.

The coroner was a medical doctor who was supposed to follow protocol in murder cases. Where was the blood evidence? Ed might get some scrapings from the hall carpet if the man had bled out. Even old blood would hold trace elements of most drugs.

And photos of the scene, Bill would get those from his discovery motion. If the prosecution delayed release of the factual evidence then Bill would have to request more time for analysis. Just how fast the DA handed over that material would tell them how tainted the evidence had become ... if it was there at all.

The Sheriff was the prosecutions weak link and they could exploit that. But that would take information and Ed knew the deputies in a bar would be vulnerable. He got out of bed and pulled out the clothing he would wear to the bar later on this evening.

"Good Morning, Tim ... how was your breakfast?" Evan asked.

"Best I ever ate, and maybe I ate too much," Tim replied. "But they woke me up at six and took some blood, what was that all about?"

"Blood samples have to be taken before you eat. That way we get an accurate count of various enzymes, sugars, cholesterol ... all kinds of things. They came early so you could have that big breakfast."

"I was lucky to get a bowl of cereal at home before school."

"I think we should begin your physical and get that nonsense out of the way. Then we can sit and talk," Evan said.

He led Tim across the hallway from the office and into an examination room. The boy took off his shoes and shirt without being told.

"You've had physicals before?" Evan asked.

"A few here and there. I had the flu last year and the nurse at school sent me to the clinic. Wasn't much they could do but they gave me some nasty tasting medicine and a vitamin shot, I was back in school three days later. Should I take off these pants?"

"Down to your boxers, I'm afraid. Is it too cold in here for you?"

"Naw, feels just about right."

Tim dropped the pants of his surgical scrubs and sat down on the table. Evan began his exam at the top and worked his way down. No issues with eyes, ears or throat. The boy must have been eating something because his bones seemed sound and his muscles were well formed.

Evan tapped on Tim's joints with his little hammer and found no flaws with the reflexive action. The boy was a little short for his age but not malnourished. His skin showed no indication of scaring from acne so he must be washing regularly.

"How do you feel in general, any aches and pains?" Evan asked.

"No."

"Bowel movements normal?"

"I go every day so I guess so."

"Good. You will need to stand up and drop your boxers so I can examine the equipment," Evan said.

Tim stood and pushed the boxers down as Evan pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He pulled over a rolling stool and sat down to examine Tim's private parts. The tuft of hair above the penis hadn't spread like a lot of boys his age. That didn't mean anything except the boy was slow in developing.

Evan grasped the testicles and had Tim cough. No signs of weakness in the muscles, no hernia past or present.

"When did you first discover you could ejaculate?" Evan asked.

"Uh ... you mean when I masturbate? I guess I was like thirteen."

"There is nothing wrong with you but I would guess our blood tests will show you have a low level of testosterone. Some boys don't physically develop until their late teen years, there is no set timetable. But you seem to have the required parts. Now turn around and place your elbows on the table."

Tim knew what was coming but he didn't wince. Evan examined the anus and decided not to go any further. "Okay, you may get dressed and we'll go talk."

"Um ... can I use the bathroom?" Tim asked.

"Certainly. There's a toilet right through that door."

Tim picked up his clothing and opened the bathroom door, turned on the light and shut the door behind him. What Evan had seen of the boy's anus was proof enough that Tim had been harshly violated at some point in the past. The skin around the sphincter muscle showed discoloration and scaring which indicated penetration.

Evan picked up a folder and made some notes about his examination and then added a few recommendations. One of them was that they test for sexually transmitted diseases. If the police had done a rape kit sampling after Tim's arrest then they might have trace evidence of Stan's DNA. But if Tim had any kind of venereal disease that could be traced back as well.

Tim was dressed when he came out of the toilet and they walked back across the hallway to Evan's office. Rarely did he allow patients into his private office since this was nearly outside the bubble of security. But the staff knew the boy was here and he couldn't leave the floor without being observed.

It was always interesting to see what people looked at when they came into his office. There were a great number of books scattered on shelves, some paintings and pictures, but most people were drawn to the games set out on the coffee table.

"You have a nice office," Tim said. "You must spend a lot of time in here."

Tim perused the bookshelves, glanced at the photographs and stood looking down at the games. "What's all this?" He asked.

"My game collection. I've been to Europe, Asia, all over the place and I discovered that each country has unique games rooted in their cultural traditions. For instance, that boat shaped wooden board with the indentations is called a Mankala game, it comes from Africa.

"Why don't you have a seat and we can begin our chat," Evan said. He waited for Tim to choose a chair or take a seat on the couch. The boy chose a corner of the couch and Evan pulled up a chair so they could face one another.

"Comfortable? Okay, let's ... no, wait one second." Evan got up and lifted the receiver off his telephone, throwing a switch on the side of the console. "Now we won't be interrupted." The phone might be off, shunting his calls to the switchboard, but he had also activated the device which recorded conversation.

"All right, now we're set," Evan said. "We're going to talk about you this morning and it doesn't have to be about the reasons you're here. There will be plenty of time to go into details later on, but I'd like to get to know you first.

"Witherspoon is an old English name ... "

"I hate my name," Tim said.

"I see. Do you hate the name because of the association with your mother? But she wasn't a Witherspoon until she got married. What happened to your father?"

"He died when I was little," Tim said. "He was a long distance trucker and was killed in a traffic accident."

"How old were you at the time?"

"I was six, almost seven. It happened out in Oregon somewhere, I'm not really sure. I don't remember him very well because he was hardly home for any length of time."

"Did you ever meet any of your relatives on his side of the family?" Evan asked.

"I met my grandmother once a long time ago, she was from California. I was born here and she came for a visit when I was like three years old. Nice lady, but she's gone, too. I don't hate the name because of his family, but the kids at school make jokes about it. "

"Did the jokes hurt your feelings or did you get defensive about it?"

"I got in a fight once ... the other boy won because he was bigger. That was in third grade and I don't fight anymore. Most of the jokes are lame, but then so are the kids who tell them. I have some friends who stand up for me when crap happens. Well, not Tommy or Jack, they told their parents what I did and the cops came."

"We'll get back to that," Evan said. "So you were born here, have you ever travelled outside of the state?"

"Stan took us camping up in Yellowstone Park, but that was a disaster. Mom forgot things he wanted her to pack and they argued most of the time. Then he got busted for drinking at the campsite and we had to leave. That was okay because it rained most of the week anyways."

"What kind of activities did you do with your friends? Did you socialize with a large group of people or only a few?"

"I used to go to the mall out on Highway 42 and meet my friends there on the weekends. That was like a four mile trip on my bike ... when I had one."

"What happened to your bike?"

"It broke and Stan wouldn't buy me the parts to fix it. I built it from spare parts scavenged from the junk yard and it was pretty cool looking. But the rims rusted through and new wheels would have cost like fifty bucks."

"And Stan wouldn't get them for you," Evan said.

"No, and he had money to spare."

"Did he work every day?"

"Not always. He had a delivery job when he first met my mom but he got fired from that. I don't really know what he did except that sometimes he would be gone for days at a time. But when he came home from those trips he was always flush with cash."

Tim shook his head. "I thought maybe he was painting cars or something, he told me he used to do that when he was younger."

"Why did you think he was doing that?" Evan asked.

"This smell was in his clothes. He came home smelling like paint solvent, and it was on his skin. He used to shower and leave his clothes on the bathroom floor for mom to pick up and wash. That stunk up the whole bathroom so I would often toss them in a trash bag and leave them on the washer for her. Yeah, paint thinner, whatever, it was strong."

"Strong enough for you to notice the odor, and you said it was on his skin?"

Tim frowned and looked down into his lap. "Sometimes he would take off his clothes and come after me like some animal ten minutes after he walked in the door. When I tried to fight back he would put me in a choke hold and I could smell the stuff on his skin."

"Do you think he was high on drugs?"

"Sometimes, but it was hard to tell. He could be nice one day and freaky the next. He gave me pills when he first started pulling my pants down but then after a while he didn't bother doing that."

"I think we're getting ahead of ourselves here," Evan said. "We both understand Stan was violent with you. Do you know what kind of drugs he gave you?"

"Oxycontin, they made me high as a kite. I saw the name on the bag he kept them in."

"Bag? They weren't in a pill bottle?"

"You mean a prescription bottle? No, you don't think they were legal, do you?"

"No, perhaps not," Evan said. "But they are habit forming, did you know that?"

"Yeah, I stole a few here and there to get myself high. Mom took them too ... Stan always had a good supply."

"Did he take them?"

"No, he used to drink and snort some kind of drug. My mom did that with him."

"But Stan stopped giving you the pills."

"Yeah."

"Do you know why?"

"I didn't need them to relax. After a time it didn't hurt when he fucked me ... oops, sorry. It got to the point where I kinda liked it, especially when it started making me cum. Then I started thinking I was gay because it felt so good."

"But he forced you to have sex ... you still call it rape," Evan said.

"It was because he had to hurt me just to get himself off. I didn't tell him I was getting off when he did it. I didn't want him to think I was queer. But when he was doing it to me there was this overpowering need inside, I couldn't help it, I got off. I can't explain it, that's why I say I'm gay."

"And if you were, would that be a terrible thing?"

"Not really. I've never dated girls, or guys for that matter. I could never bring anyone home because the place was a mess and mom might be drunk. I don't think having sex with a girl interests me, but if having sex with a guy is anything like what Stan did I might try that."

"I don't think you should label yourself because of Stan's actions ... it might not turn out to be what you want."

Tim shrugged. "It doesn't matter anymore. They plan to put me in prison for the rest of my life so why does it matter. There are probably hundreds of guys in there who would like to rape a boy like me."

"Well we're going to make sure that doesn't happen to you," Evan said. "Perhaps we've had enough of a chat this morning. I'll escort you back to your room and you can go have lunch in a little while."

"You have the group session this afternoon," Tim said. "Should I tell them I'm gay?"

"You tell them whatever you want, or just listen for that matter. I don't think there is anything you can say to this bunch that will shock them if that's what you have in mind. So come on, I have some other patients to visit."

"Thanks, Doc," Tim said, and when Evan stood up he wasn't at all surprised when Tim gave him a hug. "I'll tell you more next time."

"I imagine you will, and thank you for the hug."

"You're welcome. I hope you don't mind."

"We all need affection. I don't mind at all."

"Cool," Tim said.


On to Chapter Five

Back to Chapter Three

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"Falling Down" © Chris James.
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