Dead Silent

by Pandora Pine

  If he weren’t psychic, would his friends still be his friends? Would Ronan still love him?

  Closing his eyes against a sun that was now too bright, a lone tear slipped down Tennyson’s cheek.

  2

  Ronan

  Cold Case Detective Ronan O’Mara picked up his Styrofoam coffee cup from the over-priced shop across the street from the precinct. Empty. Again. “Shit!”

  “Problem, Ronan?” Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon asked as he passed by Ronan’s desk.

  “What the hell do they put in this stuff that makes it so damn addictive?” He dumped the cup into his trash can.

  Fitzgibbon laughed. “Unicorn farts?”

  “It’s good to have you back, cap!” Ronan was all smiles. It wasn’t that long ago that the captain had been injured during the investigation of the Justin Wilson case. Monday had been his first day back on the job. Between his time rehabbing his injury and his time spent visiting his foster son up at his drug rehab on the North Shore, Fitzgibbon wasn’t in the office from sunup to sundown like he used to be.

  “It’s good to be back. I think. But how about you work on tamer cases for the next few months, huh? We’ve had enough excitement here in Cold Case to last us a lifetime.”

  Ronan laughed. The last six months certainly hadn’t been boring, that was for sure. “I’ll see what I can do about that. How’s Greeley?”

  Fitzgibbon’s face lit up. “He’s excited to start his online GED program. I got all of his books yesterday. I also got some catalogs from bedding stores. He can’t wait to decorate his room.”

  Ronan nodded. Fitzgibbon’s foster son had been the serial killer’s first intended victim. Luckily, he’d been able to get away before the killer could make Greeley his first official victim. He’d turned to drugs to dull the pain and trauma of his attack.

  The teenager’s parents had kicked him out of their house when he’d come out to them and he’d been living on the streets of Boston for the last two years. Greeley would be moving in with Fitzgibbon when he graduated from rehab. “Any news on being able to officially adopt him?”

  “Yeah, my attorney said that since Greeley has been on his own for two years, he’s considered a ward of the state. We started the paperwork as soon as my doctor cleared me to return to work. I’m gonna need some references, though.” The captain crossed his arms over his chest and shot Ronan an expectant look.

  “You mean me?” Ronan couldn’t believe Fitzgibbon was asking this of him.

  Fitzgibbon raised an eyebrow. “You think you can handle that without getting me or Tennyson shot or kidnapped?”

  Ronan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s pretty harsh coming from a man who needs my help.”

  “Just write something nice, will ya?” Fitzgibbon sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. “You know, say something about my caring nature and happy disposition.”

  “I’d like to meet that Kevin Fitzgibbon. If he shows up, send him my way.” Ronan bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud.

  “Ronan...”

  “Okay, okay!” Ronan laughed. “Consider it done. I got nothing but time on my hands with Tennyson out of town.”

  Fitzgibbon’s hard look softened. “He’s still finding himself in the wilds of Maine?”

  Ronan nodded. The icy fist squeezing his heart tightened again. He had half a mind to drive up there and get his man, but he promised Tennyson all the time and space he needed to sort himself out. It was killing him to stay here and shut up, but he was managing somehow. “He’s been gone for almost two weeks now.”

  “It wasn’t an easy case for him to handle.” Kevin absently set his hand over the spot on his chest where the bullet struck him.

  Pointing to the large bandage peeking out from the open buttons on the captain’s chest, Ronan shook his head. “It wasn’t an easy case for any of us, but I understand his need to get away and refresh himself.”

  “You just wish he’d taken you with him.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah. I could have used some time on the beach to find my aura and scrub my Zen or whatever the fuck he’s doing up there. Plus, what if there are bears or wolves or otters with mean dispositions? Who’s going to protect him?”

  Fitzgibbon started to laugh. He stood up and clapped a hand on Ronan’s shoulder. “We researched the island, remember? There are no bears or wolves. The worst thing he’s bound to run into is a squirrel or a crab. He’s fine, Ronan. I’m sure he’s missing your grumpy ass just as much as you’re missing him, though God only knows why.” He turned and headed back to his office.

  “No one likes you, you know!” Ronan called back.

  The captain’s laughter echoed through the precinct.

  Ronan sighed. “Come home soon, Ten. This sleeping alone shit sucks the big one.”

  Shaking his head, Ronan turned back to his computer. He was looking through the file of cold cases assigned to him. There were twelve cases in his queue at the moment and his goal was to find the most boring one in the bunch. The one that was the least likely to result in anyone getting shot, kidnapped, assaulted, or bloodied. Hell, he wanted a case that wouldn’t even result in someone getting a fucking paper cut. Simple. Boring. Run of the mill. That’s what Ronan was looking for.

  He opened a case file titled Owens and started to read. Harold Owens, 56, had been murdered on Christmas Day, 1997 in his Dorchester home. Manner of death was homicide. Cause of death was blunt force trauma. A bloody two-by-four was found near the body. There were no fingerprints on the weapon. At home that night with the victim were his wife, Maxine, and his daughter, Hope. Both had been through multiple rounds of interviews and questions, yet neither had ever been charged in the crime.

  “This one sounds pretty boring,” Ronan said, sounding positively giddy. All Tennyson needed to do was talk to the dearly departed Mr. Owens and find out who bashed his skull in with the lumber and then easy, peasy lemon squeezy: case closed.

  3

  Tennyson

  When Tennyson called Carson from the car he’d been as vague as possible about why he was on his way back from Maine and why he needed to see Carson and his brother, Cole. Both Carson and Truman had been surprised that Ten was ending his vacation early and each man had tried their hardest to get him to spill the beans about why.

  To keep his mind off the quiet, Tennyson blasted the Original Cast recording of Hamilton the whole way back from The Pine Tree State. He couldn’t help thinking that George Washington had a point when he sang about not having any control over who lives or who dies. It was an apt theme in Ronan’s line of work especially.

  He eased his three-year-old Chevy into an open space in front of Carson’s house and took a few deep breaths. He and the Craig brothers had been friends since the moment they met two years ago. He only hoped that wouldn’t change after what he was about to tell them. Hopping out of the car, he jogged up the brick stairs and knocked on Truman’s front door, not wanting to risk waking the babies with the doorbell. He heard a sharp bark and knew Sadie was waiting on the other side of the door for him.

  “Tennyson!” Carson fairly shouted, hauling Ten into his arms. “Welcome home!” While Carson hugged him, the tiny Yorkshire terrier danced around them.

  Ten tried to relax into Carson’s embrace. His best friend smelled like baby formula and something else he didn’t want to inhale too deeply. He found himself not wanting to let go all the same, just in case this was the last time he ever got a chance to hug him.

  “Jesus, what’s wrong? I can feel grief rolling off you. You said not to tell Ronan you were coming home. Are you breaking up with him?”

  Tennyson shook his head. “Why don’t we sit down with everyone. I’d rather only tell this story once.” He bent down and scooped up the tiny dog who bathed his face in kisses. “Hello, Sadie. Uncle Tennyson missed you.”

  “Hey, man.” Cole slapped his back.

  “Where’s Truman?” Tennyson asked as he settled himself onto the couch with the d
og.

  “He’s settling the babies in for their naps. He’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  It has already been nearly thirty-six hours that Tennyson had been without his gift. Minutes felt like hours. He tried to smile and think of something else to say while they waited for Truman to come downstairs, but he had nothing. Usually, he spoke about spirits he met, funny or heartbreaking stories they told him, and how he got them to cross over. All he had in the well right now was a stupid joke about a used car salesman he’d overheard on the ferry.

  “Here I am. All of the babies are asleep. What’d I miss?” Truman hugged Tennyson before settling himself in a high-backed chair.

  “Nothing yet, babe. Ten was waiting for you.” Carson winked at his husband.

  “Well, the gang’s all here now, Ten. What got you so riled up that you cancelled the last few days of your vacation in Maine and brought you back to us instead of to Ronan?” Truman sat forward in his seat, his elbows resting on his knees.

  Ten sighed. He had no idea how to tell this story without sounding like a petulant child. “I wasn’t getting a lot of peace and quiet. There were so many spirits associated with the old army base and all they wanted to do was talk to me. Find peace. Go home.” Ten shrugged. “All I needed was some quiet time to figure out what I wanted to do next. I mean, before January when I started working with Ronan, I’d been so sheltered. I’d never been to a wake before and now I’m visiting morgues and going to crime scenes to see murder victims.”

  “We know how hard it’s been on you, Ten. It was understandable for you to go on vacation by yourself to have some quiet time.” Carson offered Tennyson an encouraging a smile.

  “Yesterday morning I sort of lost my mind,” Ten bowed his head, unable to face his friends while he told this part of the story. “It was pouring outside like the world was going to end, so I couldn’t take my yoga mat out to the beach. I was sitting on it in the living room and trying to calm my breath, when the voices started and I… I just…” Ten felt hot tears start to slip from his closed eyes. He felt powerless to stop them. Sadie hopped up, bracing her front paws on his chest, and started licking them from his face.

  Carson got up from his seat and wrapped an arm his friend. “You just what, Ten? We’re all here for you. It’s okay, whatever it is.”

  “It isn’t okay, Carson. It might never be okay again.” Tennyson looked up at him. “I started yelling at the spirits to go away. That I just needed some time to myself.”

  Carson exchanged a wordless glance with his brother who got up from his seat to come over and join them on the couch. “Ten, you’re the one who’s been telling the two of us for over a year now that we had to learn how to tell the spirits no. Make bubbles of time that were our own for family or sexy time, or sleep.”

  Cole nodded, hugging Tennyson. “Don’t tell me that you’ve been telling us to do those things, but not following that advice yourself?”

  “I’ve never really wanted to do it. I was a lonely, weird kid growing up. Sometimes the spirits were all I had for company, you know? If I have them, I’m never truly alone.”

  “Except for the times when you want to be alone,” Truman added. “What happened after you shouted at the spirits to go away?”

  “I said that I wished I never had been given my gift.” Ten kept his eyes on Truman, figuring since he didn’t have a gift similar to his own, he’d be the least likely of the bunch to judge him.

  All three men in the room gasped before they went silent. Dead silent. They exchanged looks with each other, but no one said a word.

  As the seconds stretched into a minute and then two, Tennyson’s anxiety bloomed into full-fledged panic. “I shouldn’t have come here.” He tried to stand up, but strong arms held him in place.

  “It’s okay, Ten.” Carson and Cole soothed at the same time.

  “We’re not mad, just shocked.” Carson pressed a kiss to the side of his head.

  “You always talk about how your gift is everything and how blessed you are to have it,” Cole added.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, you sound like a preschooler throwing a tantrum.” Truman offered him a warm smile. “What I don’t understand is what sent you flying back to Massachusetts when you still have a few days left on your vacation.”

  Ten took a deep breath. Their reaction wasn’t as bad as he feared it was going to be. “After I finished shouting at the spirits to get out, I cried myself to sleep. I must have slept on my yoga mat for twelve hours.”

  “That’s great, Ten. I’m sure you needed the rest.” Carson hugged him close.

  “I’m sure I did too, but that’s not the point. Since I got my gift when I was thirteen, I’ve never slept that long at one time. Usually some spirit or another wakes me up to talk.” Tennyson looked around the room and saw the confused looks on his friends faces that he was expecting to see. “When I woke up, the voices were still gone.”

  “They were still giving you your space,” Cole suggested.

  “No, guys. My gift is gone completely. It’s been thirty-six hours or so now since I’ve spoken to someone from the other side or picked up some information from the future. I’m not a psychic anymore.” Ten looked at Carson who wore a horrified look on his face. Not wanting to know what look he’d seen in Cole or Truman’s eyes, he buried his face in his hands and gave himself over to his tears again.

  4

  Ronan

  Ronan was sitting at his desk with his unlocked iPhone in front of him. He hadn’t gotten his usual nightly email from Tennyson and he was worried. Should he email Ten? Text him? Dial his damn number? Ronan growled and picked up the phone.

  Fuck the unspoken rules. Ten was his boyfriend. Ronan was just going to call him and if his stubborn man didn’t answer, he was going to get in his car and drive to Maine. He’d swim to Great Diamond Island if he got there between ferries.

  “Good morning to you too, sunshine!” Fitzgibbon set a cup of high-priced coffee down on his desk with a cheeky grin. “Trouble in paradise?” He took the seat across from Ronan’s desk, the one Tennyson usually sat in.

  “Ten didn’t send his nightly email and I haven’t heard from him this morning either. I’m worried.” Ronan popped the plastic piece out of the cup and grinned before he took a sip, noticing the name written on his cup was Grumpy Cat.

  “Oh, yeah. I can see where that would make a man worry.” Fitzgibbon nodded sympathetically. “What’s your play?”

  “I’m going to call Tennyson’s stubborn ass and if he doesn’t pick up I’m driving up to that god-forsaken rock. I’ll fucking swim out there or hitch a ride on a moose if that’s what it takes to find him.”

  “Well, then it’s a good thing I’m here. Moose are mean bastards,” Tennyson said from behind Ronan.

  “Ten?” Ronan jumped out of his seat and pulled Tennyson into his arms.

  “In the flesh,” Ten mumbled against Ronan’s shoulder.

  “What the hell are you doing here? Why didn’t you call? I was worried sick about you. Fuck it! I don’t care!” Ronan kissed Ten hard to the sound of applause and catcalls all around the squad room.

  “Jesus Christ, you two, get a room. This is a place of business, not the Moulin Rouge.” Fitzgibbon laughed and slapped Ronan on the back. “I’m glad you’re back, Ten. This one has been like a lion with a sore paw while you were gone and don’t let him tell you any different. Ronan, take off early. Go get lunch or whatever it is the two of you do when you’re not here.”

  “How’s Greeley, Kevin?” Ten asked, pulling away from Ronan.

  “He’s great. We’ll catch up later. I think Ronan wants to kiss you again.” He hooked a thumb at Ronan.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” Ronan quietly said after Fitzgibbon shut the door to his office.

  “It was time to come home. I’d had enough of crickets chirping and birds singing. Plus, I missed you.”

  Ronan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Did you now?” He wondered if Ten would f
all for him playing hard to get.

  “Yes, you ridiculous man. Of course I missed you. My going away alone had nothing to do you. We talked about that. It had to do with me needing some quiet time to myself to reconcile the things I’d seen and if I could keep seeing things like that in order to keep helping people.”

  “Did you find an answer to that question?” Ronan asked, nervously nibbling his bottom lip.

  Ten nodded, looking shy. “I want to keep working with you. I want to keep solving cold cases, in addition to my regular work at West Side Magick.”

  Relief like Ronan had never felt in his life flooded through his body. “Okay. I’m glad to hear you say that.” Glad was putting it mildly. Ronan was so happy, he could do an Irish jig. “You’ll be happy to know that the captain asked me to work boring cases for a while. Said we’ve had too much excitement around here lately.”

  Ten laughed. “He’s right you know. There have been an awful lot of bullets and trips to the hospital for my liking.”

  Ronan had to admit Tennyson had a point. It also hadn’t escaped his notice that Ten looked awfully relieved too. There was something else going on with him that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There would be time to delve into that later. He assumed Ten was just missing him and all of their friends. He’d always worn his emotions on his sleeve and whatever this was must just be a manifestation of that. “In that case, I have just the thing.”

  “You do?” Ten shook his head. A curious look replaced what Ronan would almost hesitate to call melancholy.

  “Yup!” Ronan waggled his eyebrows in a teasing fashion. “I’ve got the most boring murder case in the history of crime.”

  “What?” Tennyson burst out laughing. “How can murder possibly be boring?”

  Ronan grabbed a brown accordion folder from the corner of his desk. “Meet the Owens.” He waved his hand in front of the folder as if he were Vanna White revealing the next puzzle on Wheel of Fortune.

  Ten frowned. “Why don’t you tell me about this one, instead of me pulling it out of your head? I’m a little tired from all the driving.”