He remembered he'd made a similar promise to Connor, and he nodded. “I promise. Connor said he would go with me, but I don't understand why—"
"I told you a long time ago that someday you'd find someone who'd treat you like you deserved to be treated, and it sounds like you have. What did Connor say about the pictures?"
"He was shocked.” He sniffed again. “I only showed him because I know Josh will send them to him and try to turn him off.” He smiled as he remembered Connor's expression of wonder when he'd seen the ones taken in Devon's basement. “He liked the ones Nicki gave me, of that night—"
"Has Josh sent him things?"
Kevin stiffened.
"What did he send him?"
"A collar, like the one—"
Devon sighed. “He's following you?"
"I think so.” He took another deep breath. “I don't want to go back, Devon. I don't want to live like that anymore. I just want him to go away."
"There's only two ways that's going to happen, Kevin. Either you move out of the area, far enough away that he won't follow you, or you go to the police and press charges.” Devon fell silent for a minute. “Do you really want to be alone tonight?"
"I'm okay. I am. I'm going to write for a while and go to bed, maybe find a book. I just needed some space after yesterday."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
"How much do you like Connor, Kevin? Is he going to end up like Mark, someone you dabble with for a while then become friends with, or is it something more?"
Kevin chewed his lip, uncertain how to answer that. “I don't know. How do I know?"
"Listen to your feelings."
He shifted the phone to his other ear. “I think—” He shook his head. “I can't go through love again, Devon. I can't. It'll kill me."
Devon laughed softly. “Honey, you may have loved Josh, but the way he treated you wasn't love. Love shouldn't hurt, sweetheart. Think about that. You've certainly read enough romances to have an idea of what it should be."
"No one wants me like that. I'm just good for—"
"None of that talk now. You showed Connor the pictures. What did he do? Did he yell at you?"
"No."
"Did he criticize you?"
"No."
"Did he hit you?"
"No."
"Then what did he do, honey? You didn't tell me that."
Kevin remembered Connor's words almost exactly. He'd gone over and over and over them, searching for some trace of guile, but he never found anything, just true sincerity. “He told me I was wonderful and brave. He told me he could fall hard for me. He told me he wasn't like that, and he wouldn't do those things to me. He held me, and I cried. Then he went to my birthday party. He had Nicki buy this print I'd seen in a junk store, and he gave me that for a present. And we danced. He didn't even get angry when I asked for space, and when I asked him to be honest, he told me he had work to do and I'd been a distraction.” Devon laughed softly. “Can you believe that? I didn't really."
"Kevin, honey, that's normal behavior. He likes you, and I can tell you like him. I hear it in your voice."
"Devon, what if I—"
"Just avoid the L-word for now and enjoy what's growing between you. I have a feeling he'll understand if you can't say it."
"But I want—” He clutched the blanket a little tighter and chewed his lip. Talking to Devon hadn't been part of his evening plans, but he was glad he'd called now. “What if I want him to—” He couldn't say it, could barely even think about sleeping with Connor.
"Do what you feel comfortable doing, sweetheart. You don't have to sleep with him at all. I'll bet he would understand if you needed a month before you explore—"
"I want to though. I want—"
"It'll happen when you're ready, not before. When you feel comfortable enough to take that step, it'll happen. You just aren't ready yet. Honey, you aren't ruined, and there's nothing wrong with you. From what you tell me, I don't think there's anything wrong with Connor either. He likes you, and if you've let him close enough to see the real you, then I think that's promising. And if you don't work as a couple, then maybe you've at least found a friend, maybe you've found both. Wait and see."
Kevin digested what Devon had said and nodded. “And Josh?"
"You need to talk to the police. Let them handle that. If he's following you, I can only assume things will get worse."
"I wish I'd listened to you when you warned me about him. I wouldn't be like I am now."
"I can't change the past, and neither can you. I wish I could. I'd change a lot of things, but I can't. You can't either. Enjoy Connor. Be grateful you found him, or that he found you."
"I'll try,” Kevin whispered. “I think I'm going to go to bed now.” He turned off the TV. “Maybe I'll write a little."
"Good night, sweetheart."
"Night, Devon.” He shut his phone and carried it and his blanket into his bedroom, leaving the lights on, but he checked the door one last time before he curled up in bed with his laptop, his blanket around his shoulders, and the story he'd started featuring Connor.
He hadn't finished when he put the laptop on the bookshelf that served as his night table. He was tired, and he closed his eyes, forgetting about the disturbing phone calls and dreaming about the future instead.
The laptop wasn't in its spot when Kevin awoke a little after four. Even though the only light in his room was the glow of the street lamps and the LED light of his clock, he knew the laptop wasn't there. Blindly, he batted at his lamp until he got the thing on and blinked several times until his eyes adjusted. Somehow, the laptop had moved from the bookcase to the floor, and its power cord dangled over the top of the shelf. He returned the computer to the proper place, trying to decide if he'd just knocked it off in the middle of a nightmare. He didn't think so, and laptops couldn't fly.
A cold shiver of fear wormed its way under his skin when he glanced around the room. The closet was wide open, and he knew it had been shut. He'd never liked having the closet open when he slept, a hangover from childhood. Shaking, barely able to breathe, he left the bed and checked inside. His photo albums were gone. The one Josh had just sent back, and the others he'd kept in the top of his closet. His breath hitched until he couldn't breathe at all, and he sat with his head between his knees. The room spun. He curled into a little ball in the middle of his bed unable to do anything but shiver.
The cell phone wasn't on the shelf when he finally got himself together enough to reach for it. He would have to use the other phone, and that meant leaving his bedroom. Someone had been inside. What if they were still in the apartment? What if they were waiting for him to wake up? He wished he'd asked Devon to send Keith over, or that he hadn't asked Connor for space. Worst of all, he hadn't awakened while someone invaded his home. Usually, he was a light sleeper.
He opened the bedroom door and peeked into the hall, but everything seemed normal and quiet. He fumbled with the hall light, finally getting it on, and crept toward the living room so he could peer around the corner. Every light in the area was on. The basket of letters was strewn across the floor. The cushions on the couch had been tossed on the floor. The TV had been spray painted with a bright red “Bitch,” as had the closet door. Books had been toppled out of their shelves, but the phone was still there. It still worked when he picked it up and dialed Nicki's number.
"'Lo,” came the sleep muzzled reply.
"Nic?” The first couple of times he tried to speak, nothing came out, but he succeeded the third time. “Can you come over here? Could you bring Connor here?” He didn't know what he thought either of them would do, but he didn't want to be alone. No matter how many times he'd rehearsed with Devon, he was frozen now. Numb spread all along his limbs.
"Kevin? What's wrong?” She yawned. “It's five in the morning. I know you're a morning person but—"
"Nic, please.” The phone fell out of his hand when he saw the kitchen. His cabinets and refrigera
tor had been covered with pictures, pictures of him and Connor, pictures of friends, and worst of all, pictures from his life with Josh. Red lines of paint marred the pictures. Bitch. Dog. Slut.
"Kevin!” Nicki's voice broke through his shock, and he fumbled for the phone. “What's going on?"
Scott murmured in the background. “I can't explain. You have to see for yourself.” He could barely talk over a whisper now.
"Kevin, did something happen? Did you and Connor—"
"Bring him here, please.” He hung up before she answered. She would come. He was sure of that. He carried the phone with him and stepped into the kitchen. A recent photo album sat in a sink full of water, the photos ruined. The contents of his family album had been tossed on the floor, and the pictures were bent and torn. He picked up one of him and his dad, taken at a backyard barbecue.
Tears stung his eyes. Lurid images from his slave album glared at him, and on the fridge were pictures of him and Connor. There were photos of the two of them dining together, shopping on antique row, and a few of them kissing in Connor's apartment. His entire life was on display, and the happier images of him and Connor were all marred by lines of red paint proclaiming him a slut. A tear slid down his cheek.
There was no letter or note, but he knew who had done this. If Josh hadn't been inside his apartment, he'd sent someone. He tried to remember what he'd done with the card Scott had given him, but his brain wasn't working. When the buzzer sounded, he jumped, dropping the phone again. The buzzer rang again, and he stumbled to the wall to buzz Nicki in. He wasn't sure how she'd gotten there so fast, but he was relieved. He managed to get to the door, only to collapse as soon as he realized the lock was busted and the door no longer closed.
He curled into a ball by the door and sobbed.
Nicki's voice pulled him out of his spell of disbelief. “Kev. Kevin!” He uncurled enough so he could see her. Her hair stuck up all over her head, and she had thrown on whatever clothes she'd found. Right now she had a baggy sweatshirt over a miniskirt that left little to the imagination. She helped him sit. “Shut the door. Don't let him see that."
He registered the words, but he couldn't seem to figure out what they meant. Two thoughts tumbled over and over in his mind. Josh had been in his apartment, and the building was supposed to be secure.
"The little bastard was in here?” Scott's voice. “He's not staying here anymore."
He wanted to protest, but he couldn't get his mouth to work. He sagged against Nicki.
"Did you call the cops, Kevin?” Nicki asked. Her voice was gentle, but he heard stifled anger as well. He shook his head. “We need to call the cops.” He shook his head again.
"I'll do it.” He registered Connor's voice, but he couldn't move.
"I've got the phone. I'll call.” The smoldering anger in Scott's voice set off another round of shaking.
"It's okay, Kev,” Nicki said, smoothing his hair. “Scott's going to call his friend. You're going to come home with us. Have you got your cell phone? We should call Dave and—"
"He took it,” he whispered.
"Oh, sweetie.” She kissed his forehead. “You're trembling. Hand me that blanket over there, Connor. I think he's in shock.” He recognized the soft blanket as the one that was usually thrown over the back of the couch, and he clutched at it.
"The cops are on the way, Kevin.” Scott knelt beside him. “Have you touched anything?” He shook his head slightly and flinched when one of Scott's huge hands touched him. “Kevin?” He began to rock a little. “You try."
"Kevin?” A part of him knew Connor had just knelt beside him, but he couldn't move. “I'm here."
Gentle fingers touched his cheek, and he felt Connor move closer. The hand that touched his back promised safety, promised love, and he shifted from Nicki's arms to Connor's.
"I'm here."
The shaking started again, until he quaked so hard his teeth chattered.
"I'm here,” Connor said again. Kevin shut his eyes and clung to Connor, afraid to open his eyes or let go.
"Mr. Stohler?” The woman's voice pierced the dark calm Kevin had found. “Can you answer some questions?” He opened his eyes and turned toward the voice. He didn't recognize the thin, hawk-faced woman. “Do you remember me, Kevin? I'm Detective Babcock."
He shook his head.
"Were you alone last night, Kevin? Did you hear anything?"
"No.” He was whispering again.
"Do you know who broke into your apartment?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell me?"
"Josh Harding.” The trembling started again as soon as he said the name.
"He's in shock,” the woman—no, Detective Babcock Kevin remembered—said. “Kevin? Can you hear me?” He flinched, remembering being asked that question in a very different context. He turned his face into Connor's chest. A hand touched his hair. “Is there someplace else he can stay?"
"He can stay with me and Scott. He has before."
"I'm going to give him a few more minutes. I need him to answer questions."
"I don't think he's going to be able to do that.” Nicki's voice had that strained tone, the same strain he remembered hearing when she'd rescued him three years earlier. “He's—"
Connor held him a little tighter, rubbed his back, and Kevin slowly relaxed. “I think he'll be able to. He's not shaking anymore."
Kevin closed his eyes again. He wanted to sleep. Maybe if he could just close his eyes and sleep, he would wake up to find this was all a nightmare.
"No, Kevin.” Connor shook him a little. “You need to stay awake. The police need to ask you some questions.” Connor started to push him away, but Kevin clung to him, afraid to let go. “Come on.” Connor slapped his cheek lightly. “I'll help you up."
Connor helped him stand and led him to one of the chairs. He sagged into it and pulled his knees to his chest. He laid his cheek against his knees and blinked several times, only now realizing that there were officers in his apartment, taking pictures and talking.
Detective Babcock sat down on his coffee table. “Can you talk to me now?"
He nodded a little, but the officers gathering up the pictures in the kitchen caught his attention. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Don't worry about them. I want you to talk to me. Can you do that?"
He didn't answer.
"I want to help you, Kevin, but you're going to have to help me do that."
He met her eyes.
"I know you're scared. I understand that. Trust me, I understand, but I can't help you at all if you won't talk to me."
"I'll talk."
Her eyes were dark brown, Kevin noticed. Compassionate eyes.
"When did you discover your apartment had been broken into?"
"This morning. I don't know what time. Right after I woke up. The computer was in the wrong spot and the closet was open."
"Did you call anyone then?"
He shook his head. “My cell phone was gone. I had to come out here to use the phone."
"And you saw all of the rest of this?"
"I called Nicki. I told her to bring Connor."
"How do you know Mr. Harding did this?"
He shivered, hating the sound of Josh's name. “Who else would? He sends me letters. He sent pictures of Connor and me together. He calls. I never answer the phone. People are supposed to call my cell, but he took that."
"Do you know if anything else was taken?"
"I don't know. I thought my pictures were gone, but...” He pointed to the mess in the kitchen. “I think he just destroyed them instead.” He buried his face in his arms.
She touched his shoulder. “I worked your original case. I know what Harding did to you. Do you have an idea why he's doing this now?"
"He's been doing this. He just never came into my apartment before. The building's supposed to be secure. He sends letters. He calls. He has ever since I left."
"Here's what I want you to do. When the officers are finished,
I want you to get some clothes and anything else you might need. I'm going to take you to Miss Lewis'..."
"No."
The detective looked shocked.
"I don't want him to hurt her.” He wondered what had happened to his blanket. He shivered again, from cold this time.
The detective shook her head and laid a hand on his arm. “He isn't going to hurt her. Now—"
"No."
She sighed, and Kevin thought she cursed a little “Is there somewhere else you'd rather go? I can't let you stay here. The lock on your door needs to be replaced. The door has been vandalized."
"Vandalized?” He turned around, and bile rose to his throat when he saw the message that had been painted there.
You belong to me, Bitch. Remember that, or I'll kill you.
He swallowed hard, and the cold fear crept along his entire body and settled in his stomach. “I think I'm going to be sick.” He bolted from the chair and ran to the bathroom, shoving a cop into the wall when he passed him. He retched until nothing else would come up, then lay down on the cool tiles and closed his eyes. A dream. This all had to be a dream. Things like this only happened in books and movies.
"Come on, son.” The voice reminded him of his dad. Someone shook him and guided back to his feet. “You've got to get up.” He swayed a little. “That's it. Come back out here. Karen wants to talk to you some more.” He was led back to the chair, and he sat down obediently.
"Better now?” The detective's brows rose in question, but he shook his head slightly. Her hair was dark, almost black, and liberally sprinkled with gray. It stuck up in spikes all over her head. He pulled his knees to his chest again.
His stomach hurt, and he couldn't quite shake the nervous feeling that his life had spiraled out of control. “Not really."
She gave him a sympathetic nod. “I can understand. Mr. McCann offered to let you stay at his home, or you can go to a hotel. That might be best. Someplace public."
"I'll go to Connor's.” He laid his forehead on his knees. “I feel safe there."
Reclaiming Love Page 14