The frigging doctors swilled their bourbon. He'd do a line if he felt

like a line. He'd smoke some hash if he had a yen for it.

And f.u.c.k them. f.u.c.k them all.

He tore open the envelope. He was pleased that Emma had written him. He

could think of no other female he'd had such pure and honest feelings

for. Taking out a cigarette, he leaned back on the bench and drew in

the scent of smoke and roses.

Dear Stevie,

I know you're in a kind of hospital and I'm sorry I can't visit

you. Dad says he and the others have been there, and that you're

looking better. I wanted you to know that I was thinking about

you. Maybe when you're well we can go on vacation together, all

of us, like we did in California last summer. I miss you a lot

and I still hate school. But it's only three and a half more years.

Remember when I was little and you always asked me who was

the best? Id always say Dad and you'd pretend to get mad Well,

I never told you that you play the guitar better. Don't tell Dad I

said so. Here's a picture of you and me in New York a couple of

years ago. Dad took it, remember? That's why it's out of focus. I

thought you'd like to have it. You can Waite me back if you feel

like it. But if you don't that's okay. I know I'm supposed to have

paragraphs and stuff in this letter, but I forgot. I love you, Stevie.

Get well soon.

Love,

Emma

He let the letter lie on his lap. He sat on the bench and smoked his

cigarette. And wept.

P.M. OPENED HIS LETMR as he sat in the empty house he'd just bought on

the outskirts of London. He was on the floor with the ceilings towering

over him, a bottle of ale by his knee and the cool blues of Ray Charles

coming from his only piece of furniture, the stereo.

It hadn't been easy to leave Bev, but it had been harder to stay. She

had helped him find the house, as she'd promised. She would decorate

it. She would, now and then, make love with him in it. But she would

never be his wife.

He blamed Brian for it. No matter what Bev had told him, P.M.

eased his pain by placing the blame squarely on Brian. He hadn't been

man enough to stay with her through the bad times. He hadn't been man

enough to let her go. Right from the beginning Brian had treated

Bev badly. Bringing her a child from another woman, asking her to raise

it as her own. Leaving her for weeks at a time while he toured. Pushing

her, he thought viciously, pushing her into a lifestyle she never

wanted. Drugs, groupies, and gossip.

And what would Brian say, what would they all say, if he announced he

was leaving the group? That would make them sit up and take notice,

P.M. thought as he swallowed some ale. Brian McAvoy could go to h.e.l.l

and take Devastation with him.

More out of habit than curiosity, he opened Emma's letter. She wrote

him every couple of months. Cute, chatty letters that he answered with

a postcard or a little gift. It wasn't the girl's fault that her father