Chapter 1

Viggo was puttering around the house. He loved that word: puttering. It spoke of domestication, and that was what his life had become since Orlando appeared in it. He no longer looked forward to nights spent alone with a bottle, unless he was sharing it with Orli. He still had his painting, and it was becoming even more appreciated thanks to Orlando. He had to admit that since Orlando had come into his life, a lot of darkness had left it. He no longer searched to find himself. He was content with who he was, and to actually know who he was said something in itself.

He smiled to himself as he poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to look through his newest art supply catalog. His vision blurred as he remembered a time he had painted Orlando. Literally. Only on this occasion his palette had consisted of more edible items: honey, chocolate syrup, peanut butter, heavy cream, and strawberry jelly. Orlando had squirmed throughout the whole ordeal, but in the end it had been one of their finest love-making sessions. A gentle smile played upon Viggo's face during the recollection.

A loud knocking startled him from his reminiscing. He padded barefoot to the front door, running a hand through his shaggy, unkempt hair in a small attempt to master it. Upon opening the door he was greeted by several familiar faces. He smiled broadly, welcoming them all into his home. They shuffled in, their faces somber.

"What's the special occasion, guys?" Viggo asked, his eyes darkening as he realized something was amiss.

Sean Bean spoke. "Viggo, you still have that TV you bought last year?" His hands were in his trouser pockets. He was fidgeting. Viggo sensed a heavy stress coming from the man.

"Sure," Viggo said hesitantly, motioning toward the back room. "I keep it set up in the back."

Elijah spoke next. "Have you watched it at all today, Vig?" Elijah's eyes were filled with apprehension. He was biting on his lower lip. A habit he had picked up from Orlando.

The hairs on the back of Viggo's neck began to prickle. "No, I don't watch it unless there's something on that Orli wants to see." He paused, fingering the bottom hem of his flannel shirt. "What's all this about, guys?" He looked to his right. "Liv?" He turned to every face there, catching Ian's last. "What is going on?"

Liv approached him, taking his hand, and drew him to the back room. A sense of foreboding filled Viggo as she sat him down in a chair in front of the TV and turned it on to CNN. Orlando had insisted on cable. His friends gathered about him in a tight cluster. 'Oh God, what's happened?' he thought to himself. Seeing the misty look in Ian's eyes was making his heart flutter.

A news correspondent came on the screen. She was standing on a beach which the byline labeled as Key West. There were several people on the shoreline, some with binoculars, others with telescopes. He could see a ship far out to sea, apparently the Coast Guard. His skin began to crawl as his mind raced. He listened to the words the woman was speaking, trying to comprehend the scenario.

"…it appears to be an engine malfunction; there was a Mayday given, but a fixed location where the plane went down has not been secured yet. Apparently the plane was flying low off radar for a good distance before radio contact was lost."

The screen split and another newscaster was shown beside the woman. " Roselle, do we have a passenger manifest yet, or is that information being withheld?" The woman, Roselle, paused for a moment as his voice was relayed to her.

"No, Stan, right now it appears that we have only a few possible passengers known. However, it has been leaked that one of them was Orlando Bloom, star of 'Lord of the Rings', and 'Pirates of the Caribbean.' However I must state that this isnot confirmed at this time."

Viggo's breathing stopped. His heart stopped. Orlando? His Orlando? No way. Not a chance. He heaved a sigh and rose from the chair, turning off the TV before he turned to face his friends. Their eyes were sparkling with unshed tears. Liv reached a hand out to him and Sean stepped a bit closer. Viggo shrugged his shoulders and turned to walk out of the room. He paused before he got to the doorway, "This is exactly the reason I do not like television. You can never tell the truth from the lies. Hearsay, rumor, and innuendo. Shit I get enough of that without adding this black box into the mix."

Sean grabbed his elbow before he could leave the room. "Viggo…" his voice trailed off, compassion flowing from him in waves.

Viggo pulled away from him hastily. "Sean, I just talked to Orlando this morning, right before he got on the pl-" coherent thought ceased as his mind went into a panic. Images of Orlando flooded his vision and he squeezed his eyes shut. Sharp pain filled his body and he clutched his head in agony. "Oh God," he breathed, as the comfort of darkness engulfed his mind and he fell to the floor in a faint.

Ian and Sean were there to pick him up and they carried him to his bed.

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"I knew he couldn't handle this." Elijah sighed, rising from his chair. All of them except Liv, who had remained at Viggo's bedside, had congregated in the kitchen.

"Well, shit, Elijah, how did you think he was going to cope with this?" Sean queried, frustration with the younger man apparent in his tone. "Good God, they're joined at the hip. You can't expect him to just say 'Ok, he may be dead, I'll move on.'"

Elijah rolled his eyes and flipped Sean the bird. "You know that isn't what I meant, it just came out wrong. I'm sorry!"

"Try being sorry on your own time!" Sean shouted and jumped up from his chair, ready for a fight. Ian rose to calm the enlivened men down.

"Gentlemen, this will in no way help Viggo." he spoke, his voice calm and rational. "We are all suffering here. Tempers are bound to flare, but we must think of Viggo first and foremost. Orlando was his life." The last statement weighed heavily on all of their hearts. Sean and Elijah looked ashamed and silent apologies were sent with their eyes. They returned to their seats.

"So," Sean said quietly, looking to Ian, "What are we going to do?"

Read Chapter Two of Fifty of Tularia's Antithesis