Free No Enemy But Time (A Brandywine Investigations Universe Story) by Angel Martinez

free hand, the one not holding the door in a death grip. Michael didn't respond but he didn't pull away either. Maybe that was good.
      The house… Had they really only been gone a month? Everything looked the same. Oh, the grass was a little shaggy out front, but Zack had hired a service to cut it once in the interim. Someone watched as he pulled into the drive and got Michael's wheelchair out. He didn't care. Let the neighbors stare and wonder. Most of the houses were farther up the street anyway, only their house and Mrs. Pendleton's at the end by the creek. He moved Michael gently from car to wheelchair and then into the house, all his hopes dying when there was still no reaction.
    At least I can take care of you here, in peace.
    He debated putting Michael right to bed, but that didn't seem healthy. He'd already spent three weeks curled up under the covers. Instead, he left the wheelchair in the kitchen, facing Michael toward the window so he could see all of their suncatcher friends.
    "I think they missed you." He kissed the top of Michael's head. "Norbert probably most of all."
    Again, he received no response, but he could be patient. He had to be, now. After he had brought everything in from the car and had put the groceries away, he had a better idea. With a lot of grunting and a little swearing, Zack carried Michael, wheelchair and all, down the back steps and into the yard to set him down by his butterfly garden.
    Have to put a ramp in there. Especially if Michael starts trying to get around by himself.
    There it was again, that little niggle of optimism that refused to go away. He wished it would. At least the weather was beautiful and Michael's flowers were in full bloom, busy with bees and yellow sulphur moths. The chime of the doorbell reached him in the yard and he tamped down on exasperation. Maybe he wouldn't open it…
    It rang again, and a third time. "All right, all right…" Zack clomped back through the house and yanked the door open. At first, he saw no one until a throat cleared and he looked down at Mrs. Pendleton, their only next-door neighbor. Tiny, white-haired, and carrying a casserole dish that had to be half her body weight, she smiled up at him.
    "Hello, there! I saw you come home and wondered if you could use some dinner." She peered around him, trying to see into the house. "Is Michael all right?"
    No, he's not, you nosy old biddy… Zack closed his eyes on a slow, indrawn breath. Mrs. Pendleton was just trying to help. If he'd managed not to alienate most of the family through all this, he could deal with a nice old lady.
    "Come on in. Michael's out back right now, enjoying the sunshine." Zack took the casserole with a murmured "Thank you," and led her back into the kitchen.
    "Is he sick?" Mrs. Pendleton asked in a hushed voice. "Does he have that AIDS thing?"
    "No, ma'am." Zack put the casserole on the counter and fussed with making coffee. There. He could be hospitable, too. "We… went upstate to have a couple of… growths removed from his back."
    "Oh, dear. Do the doctors think they got it all?"
    Zack had to stop for another slow breath. Who the hell knows? "We hope so. But the… the operation…There's, I guess, neurological damage. He can't walk yet. Doesn't always…" ever "track what's going on around him."
    "You poor boys." Mrs. Pendleton patted his arm. "Give it time. My Harold, rest his soul, regained most of the use of his legs after his first stroke. Let me know if you end up needing a walker or anything to help with mobility. I still have everything in the garage."
    "Oh… thank you." Zack had to turn away for a moment, all the sun and the dust in the house apparently irritating his eyes. She was kind enough to let him collect himself without comment, and they chatted a few minutes more about the weather before she said her goodbyes.
    Just a quick peek outside to see if Michael's all right… oh, fuck.
    Zack dashed outside to where Michael lay sprawled on the grass, his