Words

by John Inman

  “Yes,” Milo said. “Loved it enough to steal it and pawn it off as his own. I can’t believe he would do such a thing.”

  Logan laid gentle fingers on Milo’s arm. “You said yourself his writing wasn’t that good.”

  “But plagiarism!” Milo cried. “Whatever made him think he could get away with it?”

  Softly, Logan said, “There’s another question we should be asking ourselves.”

  Milo’s eyes were still narrowed in fury and shock. He only reluctantly tore them from the book to center them on Logan’s face. “And what is that?”

  In a whisper, as if afraid even the dogs would be offended, he said, “I’m sorry, Milo, but I think we need to know if his first book was plagiarized too.”

  Milo’s jaw dropped open as the logic of what Logan said flooded through him. “My God, you’re right. But could he really be that stupid?”

  Logan sighed. His fingers never left Milo’s arm. “If he didn’t plagiarize the first, why would he risk everything by plagiarizing the second?”

  Milo blinked. Once more he stared down at the tattered old book in his lap. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to throw the fucking thing in the pool.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “Why would he?”

  AS LOGAN and Milo lay in bed, the moon cast a bar of pale blue light across the rumpled covers. The windows were open and a breeze stirred the curtains, causing the bar of moonlight to undulate across the bed like a snake. Since spring was in full bloom, the air was filled with the sweet scent of honeysuckle from the canyon abutting Milo’s property. Flat on his back and wide-awake, Logan stared up into the shadows above his head, fully aware that Milo was doing the same beside him. Their hands were clasped. Their feet touched as they stuck out from the foot of the bed, dangling there in midair, Logan’s protruding farther than Milo’s since he was taller.

  They had scooted low on the mattress because the dogs were sprawled out sound asleep on the pillows, hogging the headboard like the spoiled little shits they were. They had grown so close during the last few weeks that Spanky and Emerson hardly ever left each other’s side. They ate together, slept together, and played together. They had even begun swimming in the pool together, whether the humans were around or not. While Emerson had grown quite a bit, Spanky still could have swallowed him whole. A few days earlier, Milo had expressed his surprise to Logan that Spanky, in dealing with Emerson, seemed to have resurrected a bit of his own puppyhood. The fact that they were now all but inseparable was even more of a shock. But, God knows, a welcome one.

  This was the first night since moving in together that Logan and Milo did not make love, and Logan was feeling guilty about it. Still, his thoughts were too muddled for sex. He doubted he’d be able to concentrate even if he tried.

  After last night’s meeting of the South Park Reading Club, he and Milo had spent the entire day researching Bryce’s first book for any sign that he had stolen parts of it like he had the so-called Work in Progress he chose to read from at the meeting. Only hours before, they had found the proof they needed. Undeniable proof. By googling and cross-referencing passages online from Thomas Giles’s first release, they found verbatim paragraphs, whole chapters in fact with only the characters’ names changed, that matched another forgotten book by another forgotten author published decades earlier. They had spent long hours proving and reproving their theory until there was not a shadow of a doubt that they were right.

  Everything in Bryce’s book, from the opening sentence to the closing paragraph, was stolen. Only the characters’ names and the title were changed. Not only had he plagiarized it, but he had been lazy and cocksure enough to copy it word for word!

  Neither Logan nor Milo had had a decent night’s sleep since the night before, so tonight, twenty-four hours later, out of sheer exhaustion they decided to turn in early and hopefully get some rest before they decided what to do with the knowledge they had unearthed.

  But sleep was still far beyond the grasp of either.

  “Why did he do it?” Milo asked for the hundredth time, edging closer on the bed to press his lips to Logan’s shoulder. “Why would he risk everything to do that? And look at us! Now because of what he did, we’re put in the uncomfortable position of having to destroy a friend’s hope of ever having a career in the field he always said he loved.”

  “Is he?” Logan asked, hearing the hurt in Milo’s voice. “A friend, I mean?”

  “He was once,” Milo said with only a slight hesitation. “Hell, once he was more than a friend. No matter how badly love affairs end, they still leave feelings behind, whether we choose to admit it or not.”

  Logan rolled over onto his side and draped an arm across Milo’s chest. “Baby, there’s no reason in the world for you to be involved in exposing Bryce for what he’s done. I’m the reviewer. The duty falls to me. I don’t want to do it either, but I honestly feel the truth needs to come out. It’s the only way to be fair to all the other writers who achieve their success the hard way.”

  Milo scooted farther down in the bed and laid his face to Logan’s chest. “I know. But it still seems wrong. He was so proud of finally being published.”

  “And his pride was based on a lie. Every bit of it.”

  “I know. I just hate to be the one to pull the rug out from under him. He’ll be blackballed for life, you know. Even a nom de plume won’t save him from the fallout of being labeled a plagiarist.”

  “Nor should it.” Logan slid his fingers through Milo’s hair, hoping to comfort, hoping to calm. “That’s why I don’t want you to be involved in exposing him. You know, if you hadn’t pressed me at the meeting, I might have let it go. I might not have dug into his first book to see if it was plagiarized. I might have just let his reading stand, figuring he wouldn’t go any further than lying to a roomful of people. But now we know that’s not the case. I didn’t want to tell you about it at all, because I knew it would hurt you if I did. But you pressed, and now here we are.”

  Milo sighed. “It’s true. I did.” He tilted his head up to Logan’s face in the shadows. “I don’t blame you for this. I don’t. It’s just too bad one of the murder victims didn’t run across the truth about Bryce instead of us. Since they were doomed anyway, let them be the ones to expose him. Hell, for once they could have honestly trashed somebody who actually deserved it.”

  “So you’re admitting he deserves to be exposed.”

  “Y-yes. I’m afraid there’s no way around it. But isn’t there some way you can be clandestine about it. I mean, without exposing yourself in the process?”

  Logan laid a hand to Milo’s cheek. He lowered his voice to a whisper, hoping that would make his words less hurtful. “That would be just as underhanded as what Bryce is doing. Don’t you see? I pride myself on my honesty as a reviewer, Milo. Never in my life have I intentionally set out to harm anyone by the words I write about their work. Usually if I really hate a book, I don’t post a review at all. But this is different. This goes beyond reviewing. Plagiarism can’t be allowed to stand. And I can’t be the one to make the charge of plagiarism if I’m not going to do it out in the open, putting my own reputation on the line when I do. I’ve always stood behind what I write. I can’t stop doing that now.”

  On a deep sigh, Milo muttered, “I know.”

  The silent darkness settled over them while Logan thought about the logistics of what he would have to do. In his head, he had already begun writing the article for his blog, the article that would expose the fictional Thomas Giles as a plagiarist—and destroy Bryce’s career forever.

  He wrapped Milo tightly in his arms and whispered softly, “I’m sorry.”

  Milo pressed a kiss to Logan’s chin. “You’re only doing what you have to do. I know that.”

  “Do you?”

  Milo nodded, and a moment later, he sat up wearily in the bed and swung his bare legs over the side, reaching for his robe.

  “Where are you going?” Logan asked, reaching out to stroke Mil
o’s warm back, dipping his fingers into the hair at Milo’s nape. “Why are you getting up?”

  “I’m going to do what I have to do. I can’t let Bryce be sucker-punched by this. I have to give him a heads-up.”

  With that, Milo eased himself off the bed. His bare feet rustled across the carpet as he walked slowly out of the room.

  “Of course,” Logan muttered softly, sadly, his heart aching. Not for Bryce, but for Milo. “Of course.”

  WITH THE living room lit only by moonlight, Milo sat bleary-eyed in the shadows. The night had barely begun, but thanks to his lack of sleep the night before, coupled with the stress of what they were about to do, Milo thought he had never been so tired in his life. He could hear Logan moving around in the bedroom. A moment later, Logan padded naked into the office and softly closed the door behind him. Milo didn’t need to question what he was about to do. Logan was going to write the blog post. The blog post that would forever shatter Bryce’s dream of becoming a true writer.

  Bryce had to be warned, at least. Even if what was about to happen was Bryce’s own fault, he had to be warned.

  Sighing, Milo braced himself and punched in the numbers on his landline. Bryce answered on the fourth ring.

  “Yes?” Bryce’s voice was croaky from sleep. He sounded as weary as Milo felt.

  Bryce mumbled something else, something Milo couldn’t understand. He cleared his throat, and his words came out stronger, clearer. His voice didn’t sound so sleep damaged anymore. Milo heard the squeak of springs, as if Bryce were sitting up in his bed, checking the clock, blinking himself awake, maybe, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Then Milo thought he heard a second voice, rising muffled out of sleep, muttering a questioning curse. “Who the fuck is it?”

  Milo knew that voice. It was Adrian Strange. So it was true. He and Bryce were having an affair.

  Before Milo could pick at the mystery anymore, Bryce got grumpy, all but growling into the phone. “Who is this? What do you want?”

  Heart aching, Milo knew immediately he couldn’t be the one to do this. Carefully, with only a slight tremor in his hand, he hung up the phone, ending the call before he uttered a word. He sat holding the receiver while the sound of his own heartbeat thudded inside his head. Turning to gaze outside, he stared up through the living room window at the blanket of starlight draped across the sleeping city.

  The sight was so innocently beautiful, and in such opposition to everything he felt inside, Milo closed his eyes and blocked it out.

  Chapter Fourteen

  BARELY AN hour later, Logan sat naked before his computer—naked because it seemed appropriate for revealing so bare a truth—held his breath for a long moment, then reluctantly tapped the Return key with his index finger. There. The blog post was live.

  There was nothing unequivocal about the tale he had published for his many followers to read. It was pretty straightforward. The facts were laid out in a clear, concise, and unemotional manner. Still, he had passed no judgments. Logan had simply copied passages from the two manuscripts side by side—the original prose from the 1940s novel and Bryce’s plagiarized version that had been released only the year before. Nothing was mentioned of Bryce’s so-called Work in Progress, which he had read from at the meeting of the South Park Reading Club. Logan knew he had every right to mention it, but what would be the point? What he did put in the blog post would be more than enough to sink Bryce’s career. And for that, Logan was truly sorry.

  While Logan had worked at honing his words, Milo had joined him. Each man sat slumped at his own desk in their joint office while the dogs played and splashed in the pool outside, apparently having decided since their humans were up, they might as well get up too. The room was lit only by moonlight and the glow from Logan’s computer screen.

  Logan interrupted his work long enough to ask how Bryce had reacted to the news when Milo called him to tell him what was about to happen.

  Milo sighed in the darkness. “I couldn’t do it. I hung up.”

  Logan stared at Milo across the gloom of the dimly lit room. “Are you all right?”

  Shaking his head, Milo refused to say anything more. It was as if he couldn’t bear to talk about it. Logan had never seen such guilt in Milo’s eyes. And worse, he couldn’t believe he was the one who had caused that guilt to be there. Still, he knew—and Milo knew as well—that the truth had to come out. Sooner or later it would come out, either by Logan’s pen or someone else’s.

  By the time Logan published the entry on his blog, the clock on his desk read 10:00 p.m. He powered down his computer and unplugged his phone. Milo did the same. They sat in the silent darkness inside the cluttered office while the California moon hovered outside, illuminating the dogs through the office window overlooking the pool. They had played themselves into exhaustion and were resting now, their coats wet, sprawled together on one of the chaise lounges. Emerson was lying on his back, his head propped against Spanky’s tummy, both dogs sound asleep.

  “How many followers do you have on your blog?” Milo quietly asked.

  “Just shy of twenty thousand.”

  “Then the news will spread fast.”

  Sadly, Logan said, “Yes.”

  “And what about Bryce’s publisher?”

  This time it was Logan’s turn to sigh. “I emailed Horizon Home Press a copy personally, outlining the proof of what I had posted. There is probably a shitstorm of damage control going through their offices even as we speak, or will be when they check their emails in the morning.”

  “Do you think either Bryce or the publishing house will be sued?”

  Logan shrugged. “The original author is long dead. I looked him up. If he has family, who knows what they will do? But I have to say, I doubt this will end up in the courts. The original book wasn’t particularly well received. It’s not like the author’s descendants are going to lose out on a lot of money because a plagiarized copy has come to light. A plagiarized copy, I might add, which was also pretty much a flop.”

  Milo didn’t respond.

  Still naked, Logan rose and quickly crossed the room, rolling his desk chair along behind him. He parked it directly in front of Milo’s and dropped into it. Scooting forward so their knees touched, Logan leaned in to push Milo’s robe aside and laid his hands on Milo’s bare thighs, the feel of which, even after all their time together, still sent a tremor of hunger coursing through him. Staring at Milo’s downturned face in the moonlight, he waited until those beautiful sad eyes came up to meet his own.

  “Are we going to be all right?” Logan whispered. “Will you be able to forgive me for this?”

  At that, Milo finally offered Logan a semblance of a smile.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” Milo softly said. “You’re doing what you have to do. I understand that. And you’re the one I love, Logan. Not Bryce. You seem to be forgetting that. Whatever you do, I’ll stand beside you.”

  “But I’ve hurt you.”

  “No. If anything, I think Bryce is the one who hurt me. He hurt me by hurting himself. I’m surprised I care, but I do. I can’t believe he would destroy himself like this. Could he really want something so badly he would risk his own reputation to achieve it? And how in God’s name did he ever think he could get away with it?”

  “He’s not the first,” Logan said sadly. “And I doubt he’ll be the last. Plagiarism pops up every now and again. Sometimes even successful authors fall victim to it. You have the talent to have earned what you’ve made of your career, Milo. You’re a successful writer. You’ve proven it with four wonderfully crafted, beautifully imaginative books. Unfortunately, everyone else isn’t so blessed in their abilities.”

  They let the silence flow back into the room for just a minute. Then Milo reached over and clasped Logan’s hand. “This will kill him, I think. Bryce won’t survive this. To be a writer is all he’s ever wanted.”

  “Let it go,” Logan said in a barely audible hush. “Bryce is the one who decided t
o do what he did. The consequences of that decision have always been there waiting to bring him down. He must have known that. Now that the truth has come to light, he has to find the courage to face his mistakes.”

  Milo nodded, and once again the silence flowed in to replace the sound of their voices, stirring the echoes of their sorrow for what was about to happen.

  “Come to bed,” Logan pleaded, gently lifting his hand to caress Milo’s neck. “You’re exhausted. Let me hold you until you fall asleep.” At those caring words, a single tear slid down Milo’s cheek as Milo rose and shrugged his robe away.

  Pressing a gentle hand to the velvet smoothness of Milo’s back, Logan led him toward the bed.

  HOURS LATER, they were wrenched from sleep by a howling uproar from the two dogs.

  Milo’s eyes flew open to the tinkle of glass and the thud of footsteps inside the house. Human footsteps. He reached out in the darkness and found Logan’s familiar bulk next to him in the bed, right where he was supposed to be. Logan lay there as tense as Milo. The noise had woken him too.

  “Somebody’s in the house!” Milo hissed.

  The dogs were going crazy now. In a panic, Milo threw himself out of bed. He tried to blink himself awake while hastily groping around in the dark to find his robe and pull it on. Across the bed, Logan did the same. The sounds were coming from the living room. The intruder was treading softly, but still the quiet, careful scuffle of his footfalls and the crunch of glass could be heard. The footsteps were drawing closer, approaching the hallway now as if the intruder knew exactly where Milo and Logan could be found inside the house. The dogs were out there too. Milo could hear them prancing around. Spanky had fallen silent. Only Emerson was now yipping and baying in his little Yorkie voice. Whoever approached muttered a string of whispered curses at the racket Emerson was making.