Anyone But You

by Brien Michaels

  Maybe a little premature, sure, but the smell of dinner wafting out from the kitchen was scrambling his brains and making him believe that happily ever after might not only be possible, but finally within his reach.

  He turned on the television, and his elation vanished the second he saw the flashing Breaking News banner across the bottom of the screen.

  No. Not again.

  He didn’t want to turn up the volume. Didn’t want to know if another one of his friends was lying dead in the morgue, but his body moved as though on autopilot.

  “Police are now instituting a mandatory curfew for all citizens until the culprit is apprehended. Once again for those just tuning in: the body of another drag performer has been found, this time identified as simply Angel.”

  He hadn’t known Angel well—she was new to the club—but that didn’t make her death sting any less. Someone was murdering his friends, and there weren’t a lot of them left. He could be next. Wouldn’t that be something? Now that his life had finally started falling into place, it would be time for a psycho to come knock him off like some dummy in a scary movie.

  “What’s wrong?” Jack asked from a million miles away.

  “They found another body,” Ryan heard himself say, and was horrified by the lack of emotion in his voice.

  Second body.

  Two days.

  Whoever was behind the killings was getting bolder.

  “You don’t need to be watching this,” Jack said, gently slipping the remote from his hand and turning off the TV.

  “What does it matter? I’m going to die, anyway.” The edges of Ryan’s vision shimmered and despair clawed at his insides. “Whether I see what’s happening or not. He’s coming for me. He’s coming for all of us. And he’s not going to stop until we’re all dead. He’s going to kill me.”

  “No,” Jack said, taking Ryan’s face in his hands and forcing him to meet his gaze. “I will never let that happen.”

  Ryan scoffed. “How are you going to stop it?”

  “Look, no one knows you’re a drag queen. And Neon Trees isn’t doing any more shows until he’s caught, right? There is nothing that’s putting you in danger until this is all over.”

  “I can’t just not perform.” The thought of not getting done up and giving the people what they wanted—what he needed—would kill him faster than some crazy with a knife ever could. Performing was his outlet. It was as essential to his life as breathing. He needed the comfort it brought him, or the stress might take him out. Tears prickled the edges of his eyes.

  “Yes, the fuck you can. This is your life we’re talking about. I just got you back. I’m not about to lose you again.”

  Ryan had never seen that fire in Jack’s eyes before. It was endearing, if not a little terrifying. An even scarier possibility was Jack asking him to promise that he wouldn’t take the stage again until they knew they were in the clear. He couldn’t honestly agree to that, because what if they were never in the clear? Thankfully, Jack never did. Instead, he pulled Ryan into his arms and held him while Ryan cried. What else could either of them do here?

  Ryan’s dream floated back to him. What if the killer really knew where he lived? Had found out his secret, somehow? Even though he knew it wasn’t possible, Ryan let the thought light a fire inside him. He was in danger, there was no doubt about that, but he couldn’t live his life in fear. What he could do was stand up. Lead the charge and show this maniac that they weren’t afraid of him. That he was just a terrorist and he wasn’t about to dim their sparkle.

  By the time Ryan and Jack sat down to dinner, Ryan had an entire event plan tumbling around in his brain. But he had to find girls who’d be willing to do it. And someone who would host them.

  “You’re planning something stupid, aren’t you?” Jack asked through a mouthful of alfredo.

  “I am,” Ryan said resolutely. “Are you going to try to stop me?”

  Jack put down his fork and surveyed him. “Even if I do, it’s not going to do any good. I just want you to promise me I’m not going to have to be called in to identify you.”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  There was no way Ryan could stick to that promise, and he was sure Jack knew that too. But it meant the world that Jack was willing to let him do this without putting up a fight. He’d undoubtedly be hovering in the wings the entire time, anyway.

  That was fine, though. Added protection.

  Once they were done with dinner, Ryan excused himself while Jack did the dishes. The walk upstairs seemed to stretch on forever. Suddenly paranoid, his eyes darted to every shadow. He marked every possible hiding place. He didn’t want to believe he’d be attacked in his own home, but he had to face it, if the killer did decide to come here, the place was a fucking death trap. He steeled himself and swallowed his fear once again. The faces of all the fallen girls flashed through his mind as he went into his office. He was doing this for them.

  Valentine.

  Taylor.

  Dolly.

  Angel.

  Hell, even Simon, if the bastard had gotten to him too.

  Ryan sat down at his desk and pushed a sketch of one of Sheila’s new outfits to the side. He admired it for a second, falling in love with it all over again. It would be perfect for what he was planning. Now, not only was he letting Sheila save his life, he hoped by the time they were done, other queens would have the courage to not live in fear of what might happen when they stepped out of the house. Smiling, he tucked the idea of the dress into a corner of his mind.

  There would be time for that, but first, he had calls to make.

  “You know you don’t have to do this, right?” Ryan asked. Jack appreciated him being here. He was sure part of Ryan’s mind was back home, still planning the event he’d dreamed up, but he’d taken time away from that to be by Jack’s side.

  Jack stood staring at the door to the restaurant, his heart beating an entire symphony against his rib cage. This was a terrible idea and he knew it, but there was a part of him that needed to see them one last time, have them tell him to his face that he was dead to them. Then, hopefully, he’d be able to move on.

  “Yes. I do.”

  He hadn’t wanted Ryan to come. He didn’t want to give his family any more reason to be hostile than they already had. But Ryan had insisted. “I’m not about to let you throw yourselves to the lions and not be there by your side,” he’d said when Jack had approached him with the idea. “You’re not in this alone anymore.”

  “I’m gonna go in,” Jack said now, trying to keep the fear whispering in his ear from forcing him to tuck his tail and run.

  Ryan placed a reassuring hand on his back. “You take as long as you need. I’m right here.”

  After a few more minutes, Jack straightened his tie, nodded to Ryan, and the two of them went inside.

  The restaurant was busier than he’d expected. Every table was full and waitstaff bustled from one end to the other.

  “Can I help you?” the man at the host stand asked. He wore the restaurant’s blue and black—there were those colors again—uniform and his blond hair up in a man-bun. His thick beard practically screamed hipster, and his air gave off the impression that he was over everything about this place.

  Jack scanned the room, looking everywhere except at the man in front of him. He still had time to call it off. They never even had to know he was here. Even though he once again had started to allow himself the foolish thought that things would work out the way he wanted them to. That he’d leave here tonight with his family intact once again. That wouldn’t be the case. And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he felt like he needed to put himself through it. Fuck closure. Sanity was better.

  Even worse than whatever they’d throw at him, Ryan would see what kind of people they really were. What kind of stock he came from. That possibility terrified him more than anything else.

  Ryan’s hand on his shoulder brought Jack back to reality. He looked in Ryan’s direction
, his mind a little hazy. “What?”

  Ryan nodded gently at the host, who had an impatient eyebrow raised.

  “Oh. Sorry. Jack Kieza. There should be a reservation under my name.”

  The man consulted his list, tapping his pen against the stand. “Right this way,” he said, never looking back up at them. They followed him, Jack mapping potential escape routes.

  The atmosphere calmed him a little. The clink of silverware hitting china, the soft lighting, the classical musical floating down at them from the speakers. Jack had chosen this place because he’d hoped it would put his parents at ease. It would certainly stop him from making the same kind of scene he’d made at his birthday party. But anxiety still pressed in on him, not quite suffocating anymore, but if he’d had any Xanax, he certainly would have popped a pill or two. Maybe even three. Just for good measure.

  It felt like they’d been walking forever, and he allowed himself the hope that maybe his family had decided not to show. Or that they’d gotten tired of waiting and left. As soon as the thought formed in his mind it was dashed. His mother came into view, spooning soup into her mouth. His father was saying something, and his sister and brother were deep in conversation. Even Cal and his mother were there. He’d only invited his immediate family, but of course they’d invited others along too. Just fucking perfect. But this would be Cal’s chance to prove what he’d said in his office.

  Jack locked eyes with his mother, and she nudged his father, who in turn alerted the others, and then they were all looking at him. Like he was some kind of leper or something. He wanted to shrink into himself. Wanted to take off and not stop running until the world made sense again. But there was Ryan’s hand again, this time closing around his own. Such a small gesture, but he drew strength from it, because God knew he’d need it to get through this dinner. His sister’s gaze dropped to that connection and she snarled. She mouthed something that looked suspiciously like Fucking faggots, before trying to flag down their waiter. Anger bubbled in his stomach at that, but he did his best to soothe it. This wasn’t the place.

  “Hey, everybody,” he said, first pulling out Ryan’s chair and then his own. The waiter appeared and his sister asked for another glass of wine. Filled to the top. And if he could just bring the whole bottle, it would be great.

  Their collective gaze had shifted to Ryan, and Jack felt the instant need to protect. He wouldn’t let them turn their anger on Ryan, because Ryan hadn’t done anything but love him. Something the rest of the people at this table seemed suddenly incapable of doing. “This is Ryan,” he said. He swallowed, throat dryer than the desert. He scanned the table for an untouched glass of water, didn’t find one, took a deep breath, and dove in. “My boyfriend.”

  His father’s face twisted into a mask of rage. “Is this why you brought us here?” he hissed, the effort to keep from shouting apparently great. He’d turned a deep shade of red and his nostrils flared. “To flaunt your unnatural shit in our faces?”

  “No,” Jack said, trying to sound stronger than he felt. “I asked you all here because this has gone on for too long. I’ve been hiding for too long and I’m just . . . I’m tired.” He shook his head, fought back the building tears. He chanced a glance at Cal, whose look of disgust mirrored everyone else’s except Aunt Sasha’s. Her face was blank as she peered at him intently, fingers steepled under her chin.

  “I know that none of you are probably going to ever want to see me again after tonight, but I have to try. Because . . . for the first time in a really long time . . . I’m happy. I feel like I’m free, and I have this man sitting next to me to thank for it.” He put a hand over Ryan’s.

  His mother had remembered the pearls tonight—because now she clutched them. She and his father seemed to be in a competition to see who could flare their nostrils the most. Jack had thought his father might have attacked, or stormed out by now. Maybe the fact that he hadn’t meant there was hope. Jack pressed on.

  “I know you’re worried about how everyone else is going to look at you if they find out, but I’m asking you . . . begging you . . . don’t turn your back on me.” He swallowed. Now the tears were prickling the edges of his eyes. He wouldn’t be able to hold them back much longer. “This is the best me I can be. Right here in front of you. And I don’t want to hide from it anymore. I want to be who I am. And I want to love who I love. And all I want you to do is support me because . . . you’re my family.”

  Now the tears were falling, leaving hot, wet trails down his face. No one said a word, so he went on.

  “I know you don’t understand it. I know you hate it. Hell, you might even hate me right now, but I love all of you. More than you know.” He faltered. What would Sheila do in this situation? She’d be on stage in some gown, single spotlight trained on her, belting all of this out as a power ballad, probably. Ryan put his other hand on top of his and squeezed. Jack sniffled.

  “I just need you to not give up on me. Not because of this. I know that this is a blow to all of you. It probably hurts. And God knows you guys have hurt me. But I can look past it. Because I still want to be a part of your lives. I want you to be a part of mine. Because you mean more to me than some dumb shit in the past.” His bottom lip trembled as he wiped away his tears. “I hope I mean more to you too.” He turned his attention to Cal, whose lips were parted slightly. His face had softened and he no longer looked like he wanted to jump across the table and bash Jack’s face in. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I should have kept my temper, and I didn’t.”

  “But that’s my fault,” Ryan said. Everyone’s gaze turned back to him. Everyone’s but Jack’s mother’s. She took her napkin from her lap and placed it over her soup bowl as though she could no longer bear the sight of it.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Jack said, giving Ryan his most pleading eyes.

  “Of course I do,” Ryan said, nodding. “Why should you be the only one exposing yourself right now?” He turned back to the people sitting across from them. God, they felt like a jury. Jack knew that the chance of this particular verdict coming back in their favor was slim to none, but he still wished they would at least say something. “Jack told me what happened and I feel bad about it because the only reason he attacked you is because . . . I am a drag queen.”

  Jack wished he hadn’t said that, because it wasn’t true, but contradicting Ryan here would likely do more harm than good.

  Ryan undid the top couple of buttons of his shirt, and Jack could see a flash of blue sequins sparkling there.

  Jack’s brother looked like he was going to be sick, his father made a fist around the bit of tablecloth he was holding, and his mother got up.

  “I’m not going to sit here and listen to this anymore. Your father is right. The only reason you called us here was so you could rub this in our faces, and shame on you. You think that this,” she gestured at Ryan, “is best for you. That he brings out the best in you?” She shook her head. There were tears shining in her eyes as well. “I would rather be dead than listening to this right now. And you may as well have just stuck a knife in my gut because that’s what it feels like. Like you’ve stabbed me and spat in my face, after all I’ve done for you. I just don’t know where I went wrong.”

  “You’re doing it right now,” Aunt Sasha said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your son is sitting in front of you. Risking everything. Begging you to accept him even though he knows as well as I do that you’re a bunch of jackals.” Now they were looking at her. Jack’s mouth opened. He didn’t think he’d ever heard his aunt talk like that, let alone to her sister. “God knows why he loves you all the way he does, because you’ve done nothing but make his life miserable and anybody with eyes can see it, but he does. And you’re all just going to turn your backs on him?”

  “Stay out of this, Sasha!” his mother shrieked. Jack had obviously been wrong about them not making a scene because they were in a fancy restaurant. “You don’t know what this is like! What we’r
e going through right now.”

  “Oh, I don’t? You think you’re the only one with a queer for a son?”

  Jack made a mental note to educate his aunt on language later.

  Cal blinked. He’d been looking down at the table for the last few minutes, but now his eyes were on his mother. “Ma . . . you knew?”

  “Oh please,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve known since you were fifteen. You weren’t good at clearing the computer history and then I caught that boy with his dick up you—”

  “That’s enough!” Jack’s father said, jumping to his feet with such force that the table rattled. “It’s bad enough that we have to listen to one of them,” he jerked his head in Jack’s direction, “but now you’re telling us that another one has been under our noses the entire time?”

  “You’d best watch what you say,” Aunt Sasha said, giving her brother-in-law a warning stare. “Your son may not do anything, but if you dare say a word against my son the way you’ve been talking about your own, there’s going to be a big problem here.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this,” he said.

  “Then don’t. Leave. Run away like you always do. Turn your back on this man that you created. Who was brave enough to face you all down knowing full well that you’d leave him out in the cold because you’re all a bunch of heartless cowards.”

  That did it. “Well I guess you’re dead to me too,” his mother said. She snatched her coat from the back of the chair and stormed off toward the door. Her husband and daughter followed, but Jack’s brother stayed behind, leveled Ryan with a stare.

  “You’re going to pay for this,” he said with a snarl. “You and all the other little trannys like you.” His snarl curled into a demented smile. “But you already know that, don’t you?” He winked, grabbed a breadstick, and followed the rest of his family toward the door.