Josh Lanyon - Come Unto These Yellow Sands

Dedication

To Emmy Frost, whomaybe by accidenthelped me choose the next adventure.

Chapter One

It was like those old Choose Your Own Adventure novels.

You are primary unit commander of the Lazarian Galaxy Rapid Response Team

Well, no. Not that adventure. This adventure started: You are a respectable college professor and the director of the prestigious Lighthouse MFA program of Casco Bay College in Southern Maine. You have had one hell of a day and you just want to go home and enjoy a glass of wine and a nice meal with your loversort-of loverPolice Chief Max Prescott. But as you approach your office in Chamberlain Hall, you spot a kid slumped in a chair outside the door. Even from this distance you can see that the kid is having a worse day than you. If you want to do the responsible, grown-up thing, keep walking. If you want to make life easy on yourself, turn around and leave before he notices you.

Once upon a time, it would have been no choice at all. But Swift was older nowagainst the oddsand he took a certain pride in the fact that he no longer ducked out on his responsibilities. Besides, he recognized that tall, dark and despondent figure. Tad Corelli was one of the most gifted students to take part in the Lighthouse residency program. He reminded Swift a little of himself at that ageminus the self-importance and mile-wide self-destructive streak.

Swift found his keys as he reached the door. He glanced at Tad. Sorry. I was held up. Have you been waiting long?

Tad lifted his head, and Swift dropped his keys. What the hell happened to you?

Tad wore a dark coat and a black knit cap. The cap framed a bruised and battered face. One eye was swollen shut, his bottom lip was split and puffy, there was a crust of blood beneath one nostril. He bent painfully and retrieved Swifts keys.

Swift took them automatically, still staring.

Im okay, Tad mumbled. He looked at the door, clearly waiting for Swift to open it, and Swift shoved the keys in the lock and pushed the door open.

His office was a comfortable clutter of books and plants and old posters. The desk was an antique. It had belonged to Carl Sandburg. The leather chair behind the desk had belonged to Swifts own father, the poet and dramatist Norris Swift. The chair in front of the desk was a comfortable secondhand club chair. Swift put a hand on Tads shoulder and guided him to its beige plush depths.

Tad leaned forward, head in hands, and Swift closed the office door.

Do you needwhat do you need? He was at a loss. Physical violence was not his area of expertise, though hed had the shit kicked out of him on occasion. But then hed generally had it coming.

Nothing. Tad looked up, met Swifts eyes and managed a gruesome smile. You should see the other guy, Professor Swift.

What happened?

Tad put cautious fingers to his split lip. Doesnt matter. Look, I-I have to go away for a while. Please dont drop me from class. Or the Lighthouse program.

Where are you going?

Tad shook his head.

Swift sat on the edge of his desk, trying to read Tads face. It cant have been much of a fight. Your knuckles arent banged up.

Please

What?

Tad said pleadingly, I just have to get away for a little while. Im not dropping out. I just need time to get myself together. Just a couple of weeks or so.

Swift said slowly, Okay.

At Tads look of surprise, Swift said, Im not going to drop you, Tad. I want you in the program. But why dont you tell me whats going on? I might be able to help.

No one can help. Tad closed his eyes, struggled with his emotions.

So much pain there. But then being young was a painful state.

Is there anything you need? Do you have money? A place to stay?

Tads head moved in negation.

Swift gave it some thought. Pay it forward. He was alive today because people who didnt have to had taken a chance, had reached out to help him when he needed it mostnot just once, but several times in his misspent youth. He leaned over his desk, pulled out the top drawer and fished around for the spare key to his bungalow.

He withdrew his wallet, rifled through it. He never carried a lot of cash. Not anymore. It was too dangerous. Hed got out of the habitone of a number of habits hed got out of. I can give you twenty bucks and you can stay at my place on Orson Island while you figure out what youre doing.

Tad opened his eyes, his expression one of disbelief. I dontknow what to say.

You dont have to say anything. Ive been where you are. Just take the time you need, get your head straight and come back ready to get to work.

Tad stared at him, unmoving, doubting.

Okay? Swift asked gently.

Tad nodded. He reached for the keys and the cash, shoving them automatically into his coat pocket. He put both hands on the edge of Swifts desk and pushed to his feet.

You sure you dont need a doctor? Or maybe an ambulance. The kid was moving like he was a hundred years old.

Tad shook his head.

Let me know how youre doing, okay?

Tad jerked another nod. He shuffled toward the door. Hand on the knob, he stopped. Thanks, Professor Swift, he said without turning around.

The next moment he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

Swift lived in an old deconsecrated church in the village of Stone Coast. Against expectation, it was a comfortable and practical living space, yet it still retained its original eccentric charm.

The original arched entrance doors, complete with stained-glass panels, were still intact. Gothic windows offered warm eastern light in the morning. The thick exposed wooden beams, floors, ceilings and even walls were all of dark, burnished wood. In place of the altar was a long marble-topped island within the raised, completely modern kitchen. Swift was a devout cook. For him, cooking went beyond therapy.

Speaking of religious experiences, the pews were also long goneall but one which was positioned in the entryway. Swift had purchased a number of statues and carvings, large and small, from garden centers, estate sales and church auctions, and these now decorated the main living area. The stone fireplace and built-in bookcases were part of the renovation, as were the slate floors in the kitchen and entry hall. The upstairs loft with its giant master bedroom and bath was surrounded by ornate reclaimed 1940s cast-iron railing. Upstairs the stained-glass windows were nearly intact. A giant cast bronze statue of a winged woman gazed down at the living room with a benevolent smile.

Swift was not particularly religious, but he experienced good vibrations in this old house of worship. It was a peaceful place, and he had needed peace when hed arrived in Stone Coast fresh out of rehab six years earlier.

Arriving home after the meeting with Tad, he poured himself a glass of wine, onehe was careful about thatand started dinner. He wasnt sure if Max was dropping by that night or not. Max came and went as he pleased, which was how they both liked it, although Swift wouldnt have minded more coming than going.

He blended lemon thyme and pistachio nuts in the food processor for the pesto, drizzled in the olive oil and added freshly ground black pepper. As he worked, he thought about Tad. A smart, talented kid, but he hadnt been in any fight. Hed been beaten. Badly beaten. And hed been scared.

But you couldnt force help on someone who didnt want it. No one knew that better than Swift. So you did what you could do. And maybe time and space was all Tad needed. Swift took a sip of wine, set the pesto aside and prepared the chicken.

Chicken with lemon thyme pesto and summer tomato salad. There would be plenty of food if Max dropped in. And if not, there would be plenty of leftovers.

Swift was reading Passionate Hearts: The Poetry of Sexual Love