by Cari Z.
There was dead silence in the car. Elliot wasn’t even sure Stuart’s heart was beating for a moment before he gasped, “What?” like Elliot’s words had opened a wound inside of him.
It hurt to sever him like this, but it was the right thing to do. “I think you’ve lost sight of the real goal of Charmed Life,” Elliot said as gently as he could. “It’s about using our community in support of personal and professional goals, not . . . not this. Not transference of emotion, of—of responsibility. I’m honored that you think so highly of me, I really am, but I can’t be the person you want me to be, Stuart. I’m not good enough to idolize and I’m not selfless enough to be a messiah. I can’t be that best friend for you, I just can’t.”
“But―but I―”
“I’m sorry.”
“But . . . why do I have to leave?” Stuart’s hands trembled on the wheel, and the van jerked from side to side. Elliot almost wanted to make Stuart stop to let him out, but they were close to his home, and there was no guarantee he’d get his jacket back if he left now. “I’ve been a member of Charmed Life since you first began it, it’s where I’ve met most of my clients, I― You can’t take all of that from me!”
“You’ve made so many connections through the program, I’m sure you’ll keep them even if you’re not actively a part of the community.” Elliot breathed a little sigh of relief as Stuart slowed down for the junction leading to Elliot’s road. “There’s more to you than Charmed Life, Stuart. You don’t need it to be a success. You don’t need me.”
“Clearly you don’t need me.” His voice was choked, and he wouldn’t look at Elliot. “If you can throw me away like this.”
“Don’t think of it like that.”
“What else am I supposed to think?” Stuart sniffed. He pulled the van to a stop in front of Elliot’s house, turned it off abruptly, then scrubbed the palms of his hands over his eyes. “It’s useless to ask again, isn’t it? You’re not going to change your mind.” He sighed, just once, before his breathing went strangely calm.
Speaking of strange . . . Elliot frowned as he stared at his door. “How did you know how to get here? I didn’t give you my address.”
“I’ve known where you live for a long time.” When Elliot looked at Stuart, the man had the keys in his right hand, and in his left . . .
It was a gun. Smaller than Lennox’s little pistol, and it was pointed at Elliot’s chest. Elliot’s heart smacked into his rib cage so hard he could almost feel it bruise. His mind was racing even faster than his heart.
“You’ve been here before.”
Stuart smiled sadly. “Many times. Get out of the car, Elliot. I want to go inside.”
I don’t want you inside there, you’ll ruin it. “We can say everything we need to say to each other out here.”
“You don’t want to die outside in the cold. I know how you like to be warm.”
Die. Oh, holy fuck. “You don’t mean that.”
Stuart shook his head. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do. Let’s go inside now.”
“Stuart . . .”
“Inside, or I’ll shoot you in the face right here and leave you in the snow.”
Elliot shivered. His hands fumbled to undo his seat belt and the door, and he barely managed to climb out without collapsing. He thought, only for a moment, of running for the woods, but he didn’t want to get shot in the back. His best option was to keep Stuart going, keep him talking. The longer he talked, the longer Elliot had to work on him.
Stuart came around the van and motioned at Elliot with the gun. “Go.”
Elliot stumbled up the stairs to his front porch, then remembered― “My keys are in my jacket.” Along with his phone, oh god, if he could get his hands on his phone―
“Use the spare under the flowerpot,” Stuart said coolly. “And don’t try anything fancy with the alarm system. Just turn it off.”
He knows where I keep my spare. Had Stuart let himself in before? “All right.”
Elliot bent down and shifted one of the flowerpots over, its skeletal petunias long since succumbed to frost, so that he could reach his spare key. It had been a long time since Elliot had had to use it; he’d almost forgotten it was there. He brushed the dirt off, then slid the key into the lock. Click. With nausea roiling in his stomach, Elliot led his stalker into his house.
“Now the alarm.”
Elliot turned it off, trying not to focus on the gun in Stuart’s hand. The door shut, and for a moment everything was perfectly still.
“It’s nice here,” Stuart said quietly as he looked around. “Really nice. It smells like you. Nothing like him, although I’ve seen him in here with you.” He smiled a small, one-sided smile. “I didn’t hit him on purpose the other day, because I knew you wouldn’t want that. Even if he deserves to die more than you do.”
Oh God. “Thank you,” Elliot managed. “For not hurting him.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Stuart, please, you don’t have to do this.”
Stuart sighed. “Yes, I do. I wish it hadn’t gotten this far, Elliot.” He shook his head. “I tried to teach you! But you refused to learn!”
Puzzle pieces clicked into place in Elliot’s brain. “You left me the notes.”
“And the shoes, which,” Stuart said with a frown, “you haven’t bothered to use, have you?”
“You put the snake on the porch.”
“A warning. You were starting to go down a dangerous path with that Lennox. I had to try and correct you before you went too far.”
A lump swelled up in Elliot’s throat. “You tried to kill Holly.”
“She’s a crutch you don’t need.” Stuart stared at Elliot like he was trying to memorize him. “I could have been what you needed, if you’d just let me. Or almost everything. But I would have let you keep seeing Lennox, just for sex, if you’d given everything else to me. Now it’s too late.”
That seemed terribly final. “Wait! The car, tell me how you did the car!” Elliot begged, searching for something else to prolong this with.
Stuart shook his head. “I didn’t have anything to do with your car accident.”
No, of course he hadn’t. Because he wasn’t working for Sheridan Pullman; because there were two forces at work here, like Lennox had thought.
“Does someone else want to hurt you?” Stuart said wonderingly. Headlights flickered on the road outside, but Elliot only had eyes for the man in front of him. Stuart held the gun steady, so steady. “Have you strung someone else along like you did me?” His eyes shone like lanterns in the hall light. “But they don’t get this part of you. This part, this last part? It’s for me.” He grinned, and the sight of it filled Elliot with dread. “Just for me.”
The only thing Elliot could hear now was the rush of his own blood in his ears. The only thing he saw was the muzzle of the gun. “Stuar―”
Bang.
The bullet struck in the center of his chest, right over his breastbone. The impact of it knocked Elliot flat onto his back, the area rug doing little to cushion his brutal fall. He stared at the ceiling, wheezing: his chest was on fire, and he couldn’t breathe―his lungs didn’t want to inhale. Last time he’d been shot, the second bullet had come so quickly, he hadn’t had time to dread it. This time—
Another loud noise ripped through the air, and Elliot’s heart stopped beating for a moment. Someone was screaming now, and he wasn’t sure if it was himself for a moment. The noise cut off abruptly, punctuated by a thud on the floor close by. Elliot tried to look toward it, but before he could do more than shift his eyes in that direction, someone crouched down beside him.
“Elliot.” A warm hand cradled his head as fingers tore at his suit. Elliot blinked as Lennox came into focus above him, his handsome face harsh and lined. “C’mon, no, fuck.” Hands ripped Elliot’s shirt apart, revealing the vest beneath it, the cause of so much of Betty’s dismay when it came to matching their silhouettes. There was a brief, sharp pain as Lenno
x pressed his hand against Elliot’s chest, but it came up clean a moment later.
“It didn’t go through.” Lennox bent over and kissed Elliot’s forehead. It wasn’t a romantic kiss, it was a reassuring one, and somehow that meant more than any passionate embrace could have at the moment. “I bet it feels like you got kicked in the chest at close range, but the bullet didn’t go through. You’re gonna be okay, Elliot.”
That didn’t seem likely, but as Elliot finally took a decent breath, the fog of fear and adrenaline cleared a bit. “You found me,” he gasped.
“Yeah.” Lennox stroked the side of his face. “I did.”
Elliot wanted to ask him how, what was happening, where was Stuart, what had gone on after they parted ways, but now?
Right now it was enough that he was still alive, and Lennox was here with him.
“I’m glad.”
Partial transcription of most recent appointment with West, Lennox, Staff Sergeant US Army Rangers (R), January 28, 3:40 p.m.:
Progress note: Lennox demonstrated more willingness to engage in meaningful discussion, despite the clear difficulty he experienced doing so. His loyalty to his troops as a commanding officer and his dedication to his family are important personal touchstones to consider in subsequent appointments.
Lennox appears to be approaching a tipping point. I have high hopes that as he learns to forgive himself, he’ll be better prepared to form new and healthy relationships.
The rest of the night was a mess of police, explanations, near-arrests for the two of them and one very definite arrest for Stuart Reynolds. He’d gone down like a falling tree when Lennox tackled him, knocked his head on the edge of the first step, and only came to as the police got there. He’d been screaming as the cops took him out to the ambulance that had arrived shortly after they had, yelling over and over, “I just wanted to be your friend! Your only friend, Elliot! Your best friend!”
Lennox had already given the cops a workout when they had shown up at Castillion to grab Clarissa Hanes, who had been taken away in stony silence. That they had plenty of evidence to send her to prison, Lennox didn’t doubt; whether or not she would give up Pullman to escape herself, he didn’t know yet. Right after Stuart had been taken away, Lennox had explained to Elliot how he’d found him and Stuart, via a tracking device in Elliot’s phone.
“I was being paranoid. I didn’t actually think it would be useful,” Lennox had said quietly as he sat down beside Elliot on the couch, pressing their shoulders together. “But I didn’t want you to tell me no, because you were worried about the security of your Black Box location, so I . . . didn’t tell you.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it was a good call,” Elliot said weakly. He’d taken his phone back long enough to check whether his sister had won her election. The late results indicated a very close race, but that she was almost certain to come in ahead of her opponent. Lennox had half thought Elliot would call her right then and there, but instead he’d just shut the phone off and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of them.
The paramedics had looked Elliot over and recommended an X-ray, just to make sure his ribs were only bruised, but he passed on it. By the time he finished meeting with his lawyer and made plans to go into the local precinct later that day and give his official statements, Elliot was dead on his feet. Despite that, he resisted when Lennox suggested going upstairs to bed.
“I don’t think I can sleep here,” he said flatly. “It’s―”
“We can go to my place,” Lennox offered before he had a chance to talk himself out of it. It was the first time he’d extended an invitation to anyone other than Lee since he’d moved in.
Elliot’s expression perked right up. “Really?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t mind little rooms, poor heating, and bare brick for walls.”
“I like bare anything,” Elliot assured him, before slowly climbing the stairs and putting together a go bag.
An hour later they were ensconced in Lennox’s much smaller bed under a pile of comforters, Lennox holding on tight as Elliot shook to pieces in his arms. There was nothing Lennox could say that would make it better, he knew that. He couldn’t take away the horror of being shot in your own home, by someone you trusted. He couldn’t erase the complete terror that hit when you couldn’t avoid a bullet, even if you were wearing a backup plan. He didn’t try. Talking had never been his strong suit, but he could be there, pull him in close, and promise, with his body if not his words, not to judge, and not to leave.
Seven hours later Lennox woke to the sound of Elliot’s phone going off. Elliot was lying flat on his back, his head turned toward Lennox, one hand wrapped around his own forearm as he slept on. Lennox didn’t want to risk waking him, so he carefully slid out of bed, wincing as his feet hit the chilly, scuffed wooden floor, and grabbed the phone. He rejected the call without checking who it was and looked at Elliot, wondering if letting him sleep through the afternoon would be the best thing for him.
The phone rang again. Lennox frowned and glanced down. Vanessa, the caller ID read. Shit, Elliot would probably want to talk to her . . . but he was fast asleep, and still seemed tired despite that. Lennox ended the call, then shot her a quick text: He’s sleeping. He’ll call you soon.
Who is this? came through a moment later.
A friend.
A friend named Lennox West?
Lennox stared at the phone for a moment. Before he could decide how to reply, another text came through. Pick up. The phone went off yet again. After a second of weighing his options, he took the least terrible of them, walked out into the living room, and answered. “Hello?”
“Mr. West? This is Vanessa Travers. I’m Elliot’s sister.”
“I know. Congratulations on winning your election.”
“Ah . . . thank you.” She paused, then said, “I’ve been hearing an awful lot about my brother today, and none of it’s good.”
“None of it was his fault,” Lennox said automatically. “I don’t know what kind of story that reporter is spinning, but—”
“Ms. Hanes isn’t the one doing the talking.”
“Stuart Reynolds is even worse. He’s obsessed with Elliot.”
“So it seems.” She cleared her throat. “I understand Elliot was shot.”
“He was, but the vest caught it.”
“The vest provided by Castillion. By you.”
Lennox knew when he was being fished. He wasn’t going to give up anything he didn’t have to. “Yep.”
“And your association with him consists of . . . what, exactly?”
“You can ask him when he’s awake.”
“I’m asking you, Mr. West.”
“And I’m not answering because I don’t want to talk to you.” He went on before she had a chance to do more than draw a single offended breath. “Your brother was so afraid of doing something that might impact your election that he decided, against everyone else’s better judgment, not to tell the police that he was being stalked. He didn’t speak up when the woman you’ve got in custody almost got him killed, he didn’t say a word when his dog was poisoned, and he didn’t even want me contacting the police until he knew you were the new DA. That’s how scared he is of losing another chance with you.”
He shook his head. “I think it’s fucked up, frankly, but you’re not my sister. You’re nothing to me. Elliot’s important to me, though, so when he wakes up I’ll tell him you want to talk. And you’ll answer when he calls and talk to him directly, right?”
“Of course,” she said, her voice a little faint.
“Good.” Lennox ended the call with a vicious stab of his thumb, then tossed the phone onto the couch. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten more than a few overpriced, psycho-made canapés last night. He checked in his fridge. Okaaay . . . an omelet. He could do that. Lee wasn’t here, so it didn’t matter that he didn’t have vegetables on hand for it. If Elliot woke up, he wouldn’t mind.
Elli
ot didn’t wake up for the omelet, but he did wander into the living room wrapped in one of the comforters once the coffee was going. He didn’t say anything as he located a mug in the cupboard, plunked in a few of Lennox’s probably dusty sugar cubes, and then filled it to the brim with cheap brew. He sipped, added another sugar cube, then finally came over and sat next to Lennox on the couch.
“There’s food if you want it,” Lennox offered, trying to keep it light but also hoping to get some sort of facial expression out of Elliot. Seeing him walk around like a blank slate was disturbing. “Half a ham and cheese omelet.”
“Maybe later.”
“Sure.” The silence might have been uncomfortable if it weren’t for the way Elliot took his hand. It wasn’t a desperate grip like the hold he’d had during the night, but it wasn’t limp or ashamed either. It was steady and secure, and for now that was enough for Lennox.
“What did Vanessa have to say?”
Lennox frowned. “You heard that?”
“I heard you rip her a new one.” Elliot smiled faintly. “It was kind of nice.”
Lennox shrugged. “I was trying to be tactful.”
“You failed, but that’s okay.” He looked at Lennox expectantly.
“She said she wanted to talk to you, that’s it. Wouldn’t say about what specifically, but she knows at least some of what went on yesterday.”
“Did she seem angry?” He shook his head. “Never mind, don’t answer that. I’ll call her later, but at the moment . . .” He set his mug on the coffee table and tilted his head back against the back of the couch. “I can’t bring myself to care.” His free hand rubbed tiny circles over his sternum, where the bullet had hit. “I’m supposed to, I know . . . I would have before last night.”
“You’re worn out,” Lennox said gently. “You’ll perk up soon, be more like your old self. And she can stand to wait a while, after all the waiting she’s made you do.” When Elliot didn’t argue with him, Lennox changed the subject. “How’s your chest doing? You need another couple Tylenol?”