DANNY 1.0 Hope House: Part 3

DANNY 1.0 – Hope House

Part 3

Chancery Stone

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Chancery Stone 2012

CHAPTER 1

The rain continued the following day, but it had become sharp and cold with the feeling of sleet or hail following close behind it. A keen wind coming off the sea made it worse.

Katherine Henderson looked out between the curtains at the grey harbour. It was the same colour it had been an hour ago. It was going to be the same colour all day. She left the curtains shut and turned the thermostat up.

She went into the bedroom to dress. She rummaged through the wardrobe and came out with her cream cashmere outfit. It softened her, made her look younger, and was so bland it could offend no one. She did not want to make statements to Mr Conley, no prejudices. Truth to tell she was rather nervous. She pulled the long sweater on briskly, then the leggings, socks. She rummaged in a cupboard. Flatties.

She spent another twenty minutes choosing and rejecting jewellery.

When she was finished she surveyed the effect in the mirror. She decided she should have worn a bra – the sweater was a little too clingy – but she wasn't going to change now. She looked at her watch and picked her bag off the bed.

She turned the lights off, but left the heating on, and went out.

James Conley had not given much thought to Katherine Henderson since he had spoken to her last. He never conjectured with unknowns.

She had told him practically nothing other than that she wanted to arrange a marriage settlement. He was really too busy to take on a new client but the Henderson family was wealthy. Besides, he was curious. He was a lost cause when he got curious.

He looked at his diary now and thought about Henderson. He got up and crossed to the window, looked down at the river below. Full spate.

His door opened and his secretary came in. Miss Henderson's here.

He nodded and she went back out. A moment or two later she opened the door again and ushered Katherine Henderson in.

Katherine Henderson looked at the man by the window. His head almost touched the ceiling. He was standing on a step in front of a floor to ceiling window which appeared to be French doors leading to nowhere, other than straight down to the river. He smiled. Loading doors. The crane's still on the wall there to the left. The building used to be a mill.

Oh, she said, which could have meant anything.

Sit down. He gestured to the chair opposite him.

She realised she was staring. She flushed and sat down. He came down off the step. He didn't look any shorter – the ceiling was too low for him – but at least his head wasn't brushing the roof any more.

He was quite the oddest looking man she'd ever seen. Thin to the point of cadaverousness, cancerous looking, with colourless dirty blonde hair and dirty blonde eyes. Yes, tawny, dirty blonde eyes. He reminded her of those little sand shrimps you don't see till they dart away from under your foot. Only he wasn't little.

He was even wearing a sand gold waistcoat with a gold watch chain against a funereal black suit. Both watch chain and waistcoat looked as if they might be antique.

Sorry? He'd asked her a question and she hadn't been listening.

He smiled. His teeth were spacey, unhealthy looking, as if he smoked too much or drank too much coffee. They were crammed with fillings.

What can I do for you? he repeated. His hand was toying with an ornate pen lying on the desk, gold and tortoiseshell, another antique. Mr Conley was either an antiquarian or a poseur.

It's rather difficult to explain, she began and realised it was a bad way to start.

He looked at her in what was probably his version of encouraging. Unfortunately, it merely looked cynical.

I've… She stopped again. She had been going to say, fallen in love, but it was neither true nor the kind of thing you said to a man like him. She tried again. I've met someone I want to marry. However, his family disapproves and won't give consent.

Conley smiled again. She noticed only one side of his mouth moved. It made him look supercilious. Jimmy's lurid imaginings took on a warped kind of reality when she saw it. It made her uncomfortable, as if she knew something secret about him.

Unusual, isn't it? The man having to get consent? Is there an inheritance involved?

No, she said carefully. But he's very young.

How very?

She flushed. He's just turned twenty.

Old enough to make up his own mind I'd have thought.

She bit her lip, stopped herself. His brother thinks he's too young for me, and frankly he's afraid of his brother.

His brother?

Yes, there's no father, he's disappeared.

Disappeared?

She frowned. Conley sat up, realising he was echoing everything she said. I'm sorry, it just sounds odd. Do go on.

What I want to do is settle some money on my... she hesitated again, on the young man.

He looked up at her quickly then down at his desk again.

So that he doesn't have to be beholden to his brother.

I see. He said the words but he doubted if he did. It all sounded highly unlikely and she was too uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. Forgive me asking, but you're quite sure you're not being ripped off?

She looked at him blankly.

You've considered the possibility that the elder brother is withholding consent deliberately in order to increase the settlement?

She surprised him by laughing, genuinely, as if she found the idea incredibly funny. Quite sure. His brother wouldn't take a penny from me, supposing he was dying of starvation.

Really? He looked sceptical.

Oh yes, really.

I take it they're wealthy in their own right then?

I very much doubt it. They're farmers.

Farmers... He said it almost speculatively, as if trying the sound of it. Behind it she could detect a faint note of something indefinable. I take it your fiancé knows you intend to settle this money on him? He took nothing of the kind but he wanted to hear it from her.

No, he doesn't. He's been forbidden to see me.

He looked at her, wondering what kind of life she expected with such a husband. Of course, maybe she didn't actually intend to marry him. Maybe he was good in bed, or maybe she just liked paying for it, added a frisson. Either way it was her business. How much do you intend to give him?

As much as it takes.

He smiled up at her again, the same lopsided smile. To get him away from his brother?

Yes.

You're sure you couldn't buy the brother instead? His look was level.

She flushed slightly at his choice of words but she met his eyes. I'm positive.

It could be preferable, certainly easier.

No, he won't part with him.

He quirked an eyebrow, studied his pen again. An odd expression to choose. But you think your fiancé will be more amenable?

I hope so.

She didn't sound any too confident.

And if he isn't?

I'll have to think of something else.

Do you want any conditions on the money?

She looked at him perplexedly. I don't know what you mean.

He shrugged. He has to marry you within a certain length of time, or make out a will naming you as legatee, that sort of thing. Or that if you separate he forgoes all claims on the money.

She thought about it. No, other than that he must come and live with me immediately and not see his brother again.

He looked up at her. Will he agree to that?

Why shouldn't he?

He smiled. I take it then that there's no love lost between them?

She hesitated. He's afraid of him.

He studied her face. And that doesn't really answer my question, does it? Still, it was her business.

He swivelled his chair suddenly and picked up his pen, pulling open a drawer and dragging out a large battered diary. Well... He scribbled something like a doctor writing a prescription. We'll see what we can do. First we'll have to talk to him, see how best to approach him.

He won't come to you.

He looked over the desk at her. The pen in his hand may have been an antique, but his desk was split new. No?

She shook her head. Absolutely not. You'll have to go to him.

He raised his eyebrows. I'll be frank, that's very inconvenient. Do they live nearby?

Brixby. It's on the Carlisle road, just outside Ellenport.

He grunted. Almost an hour's drive.

I'm quite happy to pay extra for any inconvenience, she said coolly.

He smiled at her, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Of course, let's see... he flicked a few pages, we'll make some time. He looked up again. Have you got a phone number, for your fiancé?

Yes. She rummaged in her bag, gave him the number.

He jotted it in the diary then on one of his own cards and slipped it into his pocket. I've got business of my own in Carlisle tomorrow. We'll see if we can't kill two birds with one stone, see how the land lies, before you spend any more money.

Thank you.

Ah, almost forgot, what's your fiancé's name?

Daniel Jackson Moore.

He frowned. Strange, that rings a bell. After a moment he shook his head. No. It'll come to me. With a hyphen?

I really don't know.

He grunted again, jotted it down. It's definitely familiar. He shook his head again. Not to worry, it'll come. He wrote down some more bits and pieces in what looked like shorthand and then shut the diary with a whump. Okay, that's fine. I'll let you know what your fiancé says a.s.a.p. Have I got your number?

I left it yesterday, with your secretary.

Right ho. He stood up then came round his desk to show her to the door. She half expected him to bow and click his heels.

He said goodbye, rather formally, but noticeably without offering his hand, and ushered her out.

It was still raining as she climbed into her car and backed out of the car park.

He reminded her of someone. She turned it over in her head, reversing out of the tight space. "Of course," she said out loud.

She had once seen a soft porn film set in a brothel during the war complete with debonair Nazi officers. That's what he looked like, Hollywood's idea of a decadent Nazi.

She laughed to herself and flicked on the indicators. Well let's hope he behaved like one too. Give Piltdown man something to think about.

She turned onto the coast road and switched on the radio.

Danny was sweeping water down the central drain when John came back into the shed. Everything was shiny and dripping wet. A hose lay coiling water in an arc on the floor.

Danny turned it off. The rain became audible again: heavy, bad tempered bursts broken by soft pattering silences. John slid the door shut. Only half the work lights were on, creating an odd illusion as he moved up the shed towards him. He seemed to appear and disappear as he passed from light to shadow, like a ghost flickering in and out of life. When's your appointment?

Two. Danny leant the brush against the wall.

John moved forward, put his hands inside Danny's jacket. You fell asleep on me last night. His hands were pulling his shirt out of his sweat pants.

Don't act it, you've had yours.

One bleary eyed effort at half six? His hands were cold inside his shirt. Danny came up in goosepimples. Hold your trousers.

Danny kept a hold on the waist band of his sweatpants as John slid them down to his thighs. The air was chill on his skin. John was undoing his shirt. I like these pants, quick and easy.

Danny laughed, a low sound.

Only you could look good with your trousers round your arse, in wellingtons and a filthy old jacket, in the middle of a stinking cow shed.

Danny smiled some more.

John kissed his mouth gently. Why didn't she come in today?

Danny didn't bother pretending not to know who he meant. I don't know.

John was fondling him idly, without any real intent, occasionally pressing against him, more often stepping back to admire him. Twice he kissed his neck with an odd, soft, threatening pressure. I phoned old man Ostler. He says she's 'Not well'.

Danny made a noncommittal noise.

She wouldn't get up this morning. In fact, Ostler says, she lay in bed crying. First time he'd seen her do that in years, he says.

Danny finally met his eyes. What's it got to do with me?

You tell me.

She left yesterday as normal, that's all I know.

You said she went early.

That's what I meant.

And she said nothing to you about feeling ill?

Danny's mouth grew tight. I wouldn't be making it up.

Wouldn't you? Danny could feel the hot grip of John's hand. He was being rough with him, warning him. Danny felt it curl in his stomach. He outstared him.

John smiled suddenly. Don't mess with her, Danny, she's an old woman. You ought to have some scruples, even if you've no taste.

I didn't touch her.

Oh, you never touch anyone. You make them touch you. It's a trick you learnt years ago. It keeps your conscience bright and shiny.

Danny looked away.

John laughed softly. Why do you always treat me as if I'm stupid?

Danny didn't answer. John's hand was moving on him relentlessly, a steady pistoning rhythm. Danny made a small sound in his throat, saw his own knuckles, white against the black trousers.

They stood in the shadows, but when Danny looked back up into his eyes, even in the half darkness, he could see it there, knew that he could have reamed Ostler with a cucumber and John would still come crawling back to him.

Always fucking smiling, Danny. Think you've got us all taped up, don't you?

"I know it." His voice was a caress in the dark, like a brush of heat across John's face.

John kissed him, deep and hard, one hand pulling his head to his. He freed his mouth and whispered, Come in my hand.

Danny laughed softly. I can't just do it on demand.

You know damn well you can. Do it.

Right now? The words slid in John's ear like hot black poison.

He managed to grunt something like yes.

He felt it almost immediately rise up under his fingers. He grabbed Danny close. It was too soon. Not yet.

For you, Danny grunted and John felt the first hot seep of it surge over his hand.

"Wait..." he said fiercely, gripping him angrily, almost as if he was trying to stifle it before it started.

You can't... Danny gasped as another suffering pulse forced its way between John's fingers, stop... Danny's voice cracked, John's hand was already slick with it, "…me." And the last one made him drop his head back, weight slack in John's arm.

John devoured his throat, stabbing against him. You liar, you cheat, you mean little… He humped against him, "Fuck... Oh fuck..." holding Danny like a rag doll, riding against him, feeling it jolt out of himself, his hand feverishly rolling Danny's penis across his sweater, smearing Danny's semen over himself, wishing he could bathe in it.

Danny stood there, still holding his trousers, utterly ruined by the speed of it. He had not touched John once. He had done nothing.

They heard the door rumble back. John's head jerked up. "Shit... just a minute!"

Danny stayed as he was and looked over John's shoulder. It's okay, it's only Ian.

Christ, the fright... John half turned, trying to hide himself. Danny stood there, not attempting to cover up.

Ian peered up the shed at them, half hidden in the darkness, but not hidden enough. Danny was still standing there with it hanging out. And fucking John, look at him, terrified in case he saw something. Jesus what a fucking pair. He felt it gnaw at him like a fat parasitic leech chewing his gut. He looked straight into Danny's eyes. You're wanted on the phone.

Danny smiled at him.

John moved in front of him, blocking Ian's view, saying, Get your clothes on. His voice was hard.

Danny pulled his trousers up. John stepped away from him, aware that his hands were covered in it. It was all over his sweater. He took a handkerchief out. Danny was fastening his shirt. John became aware suddenly that Ian was still standing there, watching them. Seen enough?

I think I should have got here a bit sooner. I missed the best part.

Don't fucking cry.

What would I have to cry about? My time will come.

John could almost feel Danny's pause behind him. Who wants him? John demanded, making the question carry all the answers he'd like to have given.

Someone called Connolly.

John looked back at Danny for explanation, but Danny only shrugged, tucking his shirt in, then sliding past him and making his way down the shed to where Ian stood. John stayed where he was, not intending to let Ian see the state of his clothes. No free masturbation material.

Ian stopped Danny by the arm as he made to go past him, inclined his head to whisper in his ear, You feeble little fuck.

Danny yanked his arm away. Fuck off.

John saw it but was too far back to hear what was said. He saw Danny move off ahead of him into the house, Ian following a step or two behind, like a vicious dog just waiting for a chance to snap.

John wiped the worst of it off his sweater then covered it with his jacket and followed them out.

Danny lifted the receiver from the hall table. Hello?

Bingo, Conley thought, at last. Hello, is that Daniel Jackson Moore?

Yes.

Conley frowned. The voice wasn't right: too deep, too old. If he was twenty he'd been smoking since he was ten. I wonder if I might discuss a private matter with you, Mr Moore...

Jackson Moore, Danny corrected.

Conley swung his chair round to face the window. The rain was running down it in thick green streams of light. It felt like being in an aquarium. I do beg your pardon, he apologised.

What kind of matter? Who are you?

Well... Conley picked up his pen and ran his thumb along the skin of it, warm, worn, his grandfather's. It's rather difficult to explain over the phone. Could I possibly call to see you? I'm passing your way today. Say half-four, if that's convenient?

What the hell's all this about?

Tenacious little bastard, and if he's twenty I'm a Tyrolean mountain goat. It really would be better if I could explain it to you personally.

Well that's your tough luck because I'm due in hospital today at two... There was a sudden pause and when he spoke again it was as if he'd had an abrupt change of mind. I'm leaving here in an hour's time. If you can make it in that time then fine, if not... He left it unspoken.

Conley looked at his watch. He would have to go like hell to get there. No lunch. Ridiculous. Fine, he said. Perhaps I could drive you to the hospital, give us a chance to talk?

I've got to get back as well. His tone was almost sarcastic.

I'd be happy to, Conley heard himself saying.

Suit yourself. And Daniel Jackson Moore hung up on him.

Conley looked at the receiver and put it down slowly. He picked the pen off his desk and began to doodle on his blotter. No lunch, a surly toy boy for company, and a whole afternoon wasted in a hospital for which he would have to cancel appointments.

He dropped the pen and swivelled in his seat again. God, it was even raining. He flicked on the intercom and stirred up a little discontent.

His car was frozen as always. He'd put his overcoat on, but he was still cold and wet. His secretary was piqued. She'd been left to do the explaining.

He smiled again at his own vagaries. Well, he'd charge Miss Henderson plenty for the privilege. Let's say he was satisfying his curiosity at someone else's expense.

He turned up the antiquated heater. It blasted more cold air into the interior. Hurry up.

The engine moved with beauty beneath him.

He forgave his car everything.

Danny went into the kitchen. Ian was opening cans for their lunch. Who is he?

Danny shook his head. Christ knows.

Ian wiped his hands on his trousers. What did he want? He looked curiously at Danny's face.

He wants to talk to me about 'A private matter'.

Eh?

Yeah, but I'll tell you something, you can bet your boots it's that bitch up to something.

Who? Henderson's sister?

Yeah.

John came in. What about Henderson's sister?

Ian turned back to his cans, emptying them into a pot and transferring them to the cooker.

She's got some bloke coming round to see me.

When?

Now. He's offered to take me to the hospital.

John frowned, suddenly angry. "What is this?"

I don't know, don't look at me.

Then Rab came in. The pick up's fucked again. You're really going to have to get someone to take a look at it.

Well that's handy, I suppose, John said.

What? That the pick up's fucked?

That Danny boy here's got a lift for this afternoon.

Rab looked at him quickly. He hadn't really expected to go with him, but it was nice to live in hope. Who?

Some tame animal belonging to Henderson's sister.

"Who?"

John shrugged. Don't ask. More bloody twists and turns. Maybe she's sending someone to kidnap him. Maybe my little brother dropped a few hints. John's voice was growing systematically more angry. Ian stopped what he was doing to look at him.

Danny got up from his chair. Why don't you shut up?

There was a silence you could have folded up and made into blankets, then John stalked across the room and went out, slamming the door reverberantly behind him.

Smart work, Danny, Ian said.

Fuck off.

Danny sat back down and realised he was shaking. Ian turned back to the stove.

Rab came round the table and hunkered down quickly beside him. He lifted Danny's hand and kissed the palm.

Danny jerked his hand away. His whisper was sharp and venomous. Fucking leave off.

Rab straightened up. Ian looked over his shoulder at them curiously.

The soup boiled over, filling the room with the smell of gravy browning.

Upstairs, John threw his clothes in the work basket.

Fucking cheeky little bastard.

He pulled on fresh jeans, a clean sweater.

First he fucks with Ostler, now he's got some paid monkey chauffeuring him to the bloody hospital. She'll be sending him fucking flowers next. The cheeky little bastard.

He went back out and down to the kitchen. Ian was serving up soup in the sullenly silent room.

They ate their meal as if it was poison, in an atmosphere that was nearly terminal with dislike.

When the front door bell rang they all looked at each other as if they didn't know what it was. Danny couldn't remember the last time someone had come to the front door, unless it was the Mormons.

It rang again.

"Jesus… John said, getting up. Jesus H. Christ." And he went out to answer it.

When John opened the door Conley could see immediately how she would be attracted to him. He was the archetypal he man, unusually tall for these parts, and exactly the non cerebral creature she would take a letch for. Mr Jackson Moore?

John nodded.

Conley smiled. I'm James Conley.

John continued to stare at him. It was a disturbing stare, Conley had to admit, if only because there was such a lot of muscle behind it, all unfriendly.

I'm afraid I'm a bit early. Conley realised abruptly he was not going to get through the door. I'll wait in the car for you.

The smile when it came was utterly unexpected. It was worse than his dour scowl. All teeth, like a piranha. You do that. And he shut the door in Conley's face.

Conley turned and pushed his hands in his pockets. They didn't have many visitors, if the path was anything to judge by. Thick moss grew over the stones. No one ever walked on it. He went out the gate and back to his car.

He turned the engine on to keep the heat coming. He fixed the tails of his coat. Twenty? She must have been drunk when he told her that one. Either that or she simply wanted to believe it. And that being intimidated by anyone was a laugh. His elder brother must be Attila the Hun. She wanted to marry that? It could only be for his looks.

He stopped, tapped his nails on the steering wheel.

Was he good looking? Could anyone describe that as good looking?

He rummaged in his pocket for his cachous. He popped one in his mouth, then another.

Twenty. He snorted to himself. She looked too bright for that.

He looked at his watch, wondering how long he'd keep him waiting. He looked at the sky from his side window. It began to rain, slow fat drops, then heavier until it turned into a downpour. Let's hope he'd fixed the leak. Well it would certainly test it. He ran his fingers under the sill. The rough fabric felt cold over the metal. He stuck his head under the steering wheel, felt with his fingers. Seemed okay, all dry.

There was a violent tapping at the window. He jerked his head up and banged it on the steering column. "Damn."

He reached over and opened the passenger door, tears blurring his eyes.

An angel flew, glittering, into his car.

"Jesus, it's fucking pouring out there." Danny shook his head, scattering everything with drops of water. He was charged with icy air and shimmering with water. To Conley he almost seemed to scintillate. Some kind of odd trick caused by the thundery light perhaps. He shook himself again, more than half a shiver.

Conley stared at him, rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on what he was seeing, utterly nonplussed.

Danny ran his hands through his hair, shook himself again – this time it was a shiver – and then he looked at Conley. He wiped his cheeks with the heels of his hands, fanning them outwards, watching him all the while. The moment grew too long, became uncomfortable. We going? Danny frowned at him. Weird, very weird. The car looked like a hearse and its owner looked like an undertaker.

"You're Daniel Jackson Moore."

Danny pondered that one. Who else?

That voice.

Then that was your brother I spoke to, who answered the door.

Yes. Danny was confused, a little irritated.

That voice, it was him alright.

Are we going or not? My appointment's at two.

Conley jumped as if he'd poked him with a stick. Of course, yes. He started the car.

The dashboard was a thing of almost rustic simplicity. Danny quirked a brow at it. Weird car.

Thank you. Conley pulled out into the traffic.

Danny smiled and looked out the window. He ran his hand along the seat edge. Real leather. Well, okay.

Conley was angry at himself. She said twenty, she meant twenty. He shot a glance at the real Daniel Jackson Moore. This he could understand. This was the sort of thing you could see someone wanting to buy. Cast him in bronze and he'd buy one too. He looked at him again. No, perhaps not. And that lump was his brother? It got better. He'd missed lunch for this.

You're from Henderson's sister, aren't you?

Conley flicked another glance at him. Henderson's sister? Terms of endearment it wasn't. Yes, he said, there not being much else to say.

What does she want now?

Curiouser and curiouser. To marry you. He tried that for news value.

What? Daniel Jackson Moore turned to stare at him. It had news value alright. Oh, Miss Henderson, I've got a bone to pick with you.

She wants to marry you.

Oh Jesus.

He seemed more despairing than anything else. Anyone would have thought Conley had just told him he'd been cut out of a will.

In fact, she's willing to pay you to marry her. That's what it boiled down to, might as well say so.

"Pay me? Pay me? Is she off her head?"

I'm beginning to think so. Either that or I am. He said, As much money as you like.

And who are you? What's all this got to do with you?

I'm her solicitor. In more ways than one.

The boy made a noise that smacked rather uncomplimentarily of disgust, then he was silent.

Conley glanced at his profile again. His face was tense, white, with two hectic spots of red, for all the world as if he'd had a bad shock. Whatever this was it was knee deep in dirt and complications, like those messy divorces Sheard revelled in. The boy looked at him suddenly. You can tell her to get stuffed.

You're not interested, I take it? Conley couldn't help smiling.

Too right.

Even supposing she offers you half a million? Conley had no right naming sums but he didn't think it would matter. Idle curiosity must be satisfied.

Not even for a full million.

He raised his eyebrows. And I was told you were afraid of your brother.

Daniel Jackson Moore laughed, an odd deep little sound without much humour in it. Oh I am.

Conley looked at him sharply but he was looking out the window as if he'd never said it. Conley didn't know quite how to word his next question so he tried, Forgive me asking, but you're not in love with Miss Henderson?

He aired that same cynical little laugh.

I know this sounds very impertinent but I would like to be clear for the sake of my client. It's not a question of you being afraid of your brother but rather an extreme disinclination to go to Miss Henderson, is that right?

Danny was watching him now, a smile growing on his face. You've got it.

And you would like me to tell her to get stuffed?

Danny laughed. Conley kept the same deadpan face, his educated, almost robotic, voice putting no inflection in the words at all.

That's it.

Fine. Now we know where we stand. Conley popped another two cachous in his mouth and concentrated on the road.

Conley came into the hospital with him on the premise that it would be warmer than his car. Danny led him on a labyrinthian trip of the corridors. They spoke very little. Conley suddenly wondered why he'd come to the hospital. He looked indecently healthy. He voiced it, risking that he wasn't being either impolite or tactless. What are you here for?

Danny was checking numbers and arrows on the walls. Had he taken a wrong turning? He held out his left hand to Conley. An ugly wound like a tightly pursed mouth sat in the centre of his palm. It reminded Conley of those lurid Indian paintings of prophets with seeing eyes in their hands. Only this might be a talking mouth. How did you do it?

Danny veered off suddenly. Conley had to run slightly to catch up with him. I didn't.

Conley looked at his back. It's a knife wound, isn't it? He drew abreast of him.

Danny made a noise that might have been a yes, or then again it might not. Conley felt he was walking close to the edge of being told to mind his own business. He backed off a little. Some problem healing? The wound still looked raw to him.

No feeling in one fingertip. Danny stopped suddenly and turned to face him. Conley came to an abrupt halt. Danny reached up and brushed his first two fingers along Conley's cheek. Conley went rigid. The boy's face was smiling at him. It looked almost puckish, elfin, vaguely unpleasant. With this one I can feel you a little... He held up his first finger. With this.... he held up his second finger, I can't feel you at all.

Conley blinked. Danny smiled wider then he turned and went up to a window in a partition wall. Conley backed into a row of seats and sat down. He stared at Danny's back. If he didn't know better he'd say he'd just been flirted with.

Or something.

Danny was called in straight away.

Well hello. It was the same nurse, the one with the smile. Danny smiled back at her.

She told him to take off his jacket and roll up his sleeve.