Bonds of Love

a news reporter in mid-sentence. “Over here on Malvern,Tim. Residents say the fire began at the back of the house, thoughpolice are still investigating the cause of the blaze.”
The burned husk of a duplex flashed on the screen.Matt glanced at it and winced at the damage, then turned to hisfood. As he sank his teeth into one hot chicken leg, the succulentcrust crackled and heady juices filled his mouth. Sooo good.Nothing beat Lee’s fried chicken.
On the TV, an older woman with too much makeup smiledinto the camera. Behind her, the remains of the destroyed hometeetered dangerously. “Tim, reports are coming in about the mansome say rescued two young children from this fire. Mrs. EstherCampbell from the neighborhood watch is here with me now.Esther?”
“He was a big man I seen,” the woman called Esthersaid, speaking around a handful of stubborn teeth. At her words,the chicken turned tasteless in Matt’s mouth. “Bald head, realbrute. Damn tattoo on his face. Looked like some kind of druggie,you ask me.”
The reporter cut in. “But you say he battled theblaze to rescue the children trapped inside this house?”
When Esther nodded, a fist clenched around Matt’sheart. Vic. He turned the volume up louder, but the newsreport ended abruptly—Vic hadn’t lingered after the rescue, so thecameras had nothing to show but the burned remains of the house andtwo grubby-faced children who stared solemnly from the televisionscreen, scared silent. Neighbors who watched the blaze described acity bus passing the scene, then stopping less than a block away.One man ran off the bus, barreled down the street, and burstthrough the burning front door like a damn superhero. That was theword everyone used, superhero. When he brought out the kids,the frantic mother attested that despite the heat of the fire, theman had been cool to the touch, and a white film coated his exposedskin. “Like the discharge from a fire extinguisher?” the reporterprompted.
But the mother shook her head. “Like ice.”
Though no one got the man’s name, Matt knew without adoubt it had been his lover. Rushing in to save people he knew wereinside, coated in ice for protection, disregarding all laws ofscience to do the impossible, the unthinkable…who the hellelse could it be?
Matt’s appetite had disappeared; his rumbling stomachnow churned in nervous anticipation, and the smell of the chickenwas anathema to him. He dumped the take-out container in the trashwithout bothering to finish the leg he’d started. One thoughtrolled through his head like the pealing of a solemn bell. Vic.My God.
Wiping the grease from his fingers onto his T-shirt,Matt snatched the cordless phone off its cradle in the hall anddialed Vic’s cell phone. He had to hang up twice because he fumbledover the numbers. At last, the phone began to ring in his ear.“Come on,” he muttered, listening to the rings.
Three, four, then an audible click and hislover’s gruff voice filled him. “This is Vic. Leave a message.”Beeep.
“Vic,” Matt sighed, then, “Damn it! Pick up thephone.” He slammed the receiver down, hit redial, listened to therings and Vic’s message again. And again. And again.
Fuck.
Matt’s hand shook as he raised it to his temple.Pressing his palm against his forehead, he took a deep breath andclosed his eyes. In his mind, he pictured himself as a fisherman,dressed in flannels and hunter orange, bulky thigh-high boots, ahat with lures pinned all over it, the whole nine yards. He stoodin midstream, a fly rod in one hand. As the image solidified behindhis closed eyelids, he yanked back on the rod, then jerked itforward to cast his line. Gossamer fishing line spun out from thereel in a glorious arc, racing into the air before gravity pulledthe lead sinker into the water.
The bobber ducked into the water, then resurfaced.The line went slack. Nothing.
Fuck, Matt muttered, reeling in the line foranother try. The connection he shared with Vic had a limited rangeof about two city blocks or so, give or take. The fishing analogywas Matt’s way of concentrating, focusing his energy into one thincord that he cast out into the world around him, seeking hislover’s mind amid the murky waters that swirled between them.Sometimes, when Vic was nearby, Matt felt a tug on the fishing lineand reeled his lover in.
Lord, what a catch.
But other times he could waste hours just castingabout, until he was mentally and physically exhausted, and stillVic remained too far out, a distant promise hidden beyond thebreakers, just beyond his reach.
Shaking the fishing image away, Matt reached for thephone again. Vic always had his cell with him, he wore it in aholster on his hip. Why wasn’t he answering it now? When Mattwanted to hear his voice, needed to know he wasfine…”Damn it!” Matt slammed the receiver down, then pickedit up and slammed it again, for good measure.
He hated these powers. They made Vic feelinvincible and he wasn’t. Rushing into a burning house, forChrist’s sake? Covered in ice maybe, yeah, but ice melted. Fireburned the skin before a person could even feel it, andsmoke scorched the lungs. And bullets drop you dead, headded with a shake of his head. Vic was always putting himself intodanger because of Matt. Getting shot at, getting hurt. One day he’dgo too far. One day he’d get himself killed, and what then?What the fuck then?
Then Matt would live the rest of his days knowing hehad destroyed the only man he’d ever truly loved.
Hot tears of frustration filled his eyes. Matt wipedthem away with the back of his hand. The strangled voice thatescaped his throat didn’t sound anything like his normally cheerfulself. “Vic,” he sighed. He sent the words mentally as he spoke themout loud. “Answer the goddamn phone, will you? Or call me,for once. Tell me you’re okay. Tell me…”
He trailed off, his plea unanswered. No lover’s mindcomforted Matt’s whirling thoughts.
Carrying the phone into the living room, Matt sankinto Vic’s recliner. Panic raced through his chest like a mouse,frenzied and unable to escape. He tried to tamp it down, but itkept wiggling out from under his grip to start up again, squeakingout half-asked questions for which Matt had no answers—whatif