Chase in Shadow

by Amy Lane

  “You’re smart, Chase, but your noggin’s only so big. You didn’t let it out, and now it’s busting out, and it’s not always safe. It’s like a dam or something, right? The water’s threatening to knock the whole thing over, and you can either let it out those waterways where it’s supposed to go, or it’s going to be like in the movies where big chunks of rock are shooting everywhere and the first place to give is right above the family and the second place to go is heading for the power plant that’s going to destroy the city. And it doesn’t have to be that way, man. All you gotta do is let it out at the right places, the right times, and it’ll go, and when it’s done, you’ll feel lighter, because all that water was putting pressure on shit, and now it’s gone. Right?”

  Chase nodded, suddenly exhausted by his day even though it was only eight o’clock at night. “Tommy?” he said plaintively, “can you tell me something not serious? Can you tell me something happy?”

  Tommy looked at him carefully, trying to see if it was some sort of ruse, or evasion, Chase was sure. Chase wasn’t sure what Tommy saw in his eyes, but he was relieved when Tommy started scooting down on the bed and nestling against Chase, until Chase’s face was pressed up against Tommy’s chest and Tommy’s lower leg was thrown over Chase’s hips, and they were as twined as two people could be with their clothes on.

  “I got a kitten today,” Tommy said, and Chase pulled back to grin at him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. And a turtle too.”

  “A turtle?”

  “Yeah, he’s in a terrarium. The pet store had them on sale all month, and he was the last guy in the tank. He was sort of puny, you know? Not really spectacular, like the other turtles, so I took him home. They were nice—they gave me a terrarium for free, because I volunteer with the rescue cats on the weekend. You’ve helped me, right?”

  “Yeah. I like doing that.” The rescue cats needed their litter changed and their nails trimmed and their cages cleaned while they waited for someone to adopt them. Tommy went once a week, because some of the same people worked with the rescue cats at the ASPCA who did the pet store adoptions, and Chase had helped him on more than one occasion. They both liked the idea of perfectly nice animals given a second chance to have a home.

  “So anyway, they gave me the terrarium and I took it home and set it up in the living room, on that shelf by the TV—”

  “What’d you do with the models you painted?” Cars—Tommy liked them in small form, but he said all he wanted from the big ones was for them to get him somewhere when he stepped on the gas.

  “Just moved them to the side. Anyway, so it looks sort of peaceful there, and the turtle—”

  “What’d you name him?”

  “Am I supposed to name him?”

  “Well yeah. You can’t just let him hang out without a name. Then he’s not a real person.”

  Tommy kissed the top of his head, mostly, Chase figured, for something to do. Chase may have gone all delicate fragile flower on him, but this sitting still shit still didn’t work well for Tommy, and Chase could feel his muscles jumping even as they lay there. That was okay though. He did the same thing at night, when he was lying down to sleep, right up until his eyes closed and his body went limp. Chase knew because he’d stayed up on more than one occasion just to feel that moment.

  “I think I love you just ’cause you’d say that. What do you want to name him?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t met him. Don’t you have to know them before you name them?”

  “People name babies all the time without knowing them. They just hope that kid’s gonna be like the name when it pops out of the oven.”

  Chase laughed. “I think sometimes kids just sort of turn into who they are because of the way they’re named, but I don’t know.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve never met a person on the planet who’s more Tommy Halloran than you. I don’t know what the hell you were dreaming of when you came up with ‘Tango’.”

  Tommy laughed. “I was thinking I wanted to dance with all the hot guys, that’s what I was thinkin’. Now about this turtle. Oliver. I think I’m gonna name it Oliver.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because he’s leaving little turtle poop ‘Oliver’ his terrarium.”

  Chase laughed at the horrible pun and suddenly felt better. Tommy was warm and muscular and wonderful, wrapped around him this way, but Chase had a thought.

  “Tommy, why aren’t we horny?”

  “Who says we’re not?” For form, Tommy thrust his hips forward, and he had a semi, but that was sort of standard for Tommy—he was like, at perpetual half-mast.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Tommy sighed. “You’re not horny because your body’s still sad. Your brain, your heart, your body—they’re all still grieving for the shit that fucked you up in the first place. I’m not horny because….” Tommy trailed off and swallowed, and his arms tightened around Chase’s shoulders convulsively.

  “You’re still pissed at me,” Chase mumbled, because he deserved it.

  “A little, yeah,” Tommy confessed, “but mostly I’m so scared.”

  Chase looked up. “Scared?”

  “Yeah. You’re crying all the time, and in a way that’s good, Chase. I mean, it’s better than that whole ‘disappear in your head’ crap you were doing. But you’re also sort of… I dunno. Helpless when you’re like this. And I think that dam is gonna burst anyway, and I have to keep going home. Who’s gonna help put you back together?”

  “You’ll be here,” Chase mumbled, suddenly completely terrified himself. Oh God. He was going to feel worse than this? The prospect was just… just horrible. If this was how he felt the whole time he was locked in his own head, telling himself he’d be fine as long as he kept the girlfriend and the apartment and the picture-book life, how was he going to deal with feeling worse than this? All of a sudden, like a monstrous, light-sucking black wall, he was hit with the actual depth of his desolation, and how fucking miserable he would have had to be to do what he did. His arms tightened around Tommy’s middle, and for a minute they just stayed there, clinging to each other.

  “The Doc’s gonna do something new tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Hypnotherapy, which sounds sort of hokey and Lifetime television, you know, but he just wants me to relax enough to talk about shit.”

  Tommy made a suspicious noise, and when he spoke his voice was really gruff. Chase didn’t want to look to see if he was crying. Chase had had enough of tears to last him forever and ever and ever.

  “I think that’s a real good idea,” Tommy said after a minute. “I think that’s gonna help you, but you’re gonna have to be brave, Chase. Brave ain’t your strong suit, you know?”

  “I know,” Chase whispered, because it was the truth. He swallowed. Tommy would have to leave soon, and Chase didn’t want him to leave when they were like this. He wanted Tommy to leave happy, and optimistic, and ready to come back the next day and tell Chase about what he did.

  “So,” he said when he could talk with a steady voice. “What’re you going to name the kitten?”

  Tommy went to kiss the top of Chase’s head again, but Chase tilted his head back and Tommy got his lips instead. The kiss was salty, but sweet.

  When Tommy pulled back, his full lips curved up into a smile. “Paulie,” he said happily. “He’s sort of a little scrapper, like Buster, but he reminds me of this guy from my neighborhood. Guy grew up to be a doctor, you know? I figure this guy’s got a future, he gets to be Paulie.”

  “How’s Buster like him?”

  “Buster thinks he’s a punk, which is okay. Buster’s gonna school him, teach him some manners, and then lick his ears when Paulie needs a little TLC. They’re good.”

  Chase nodded and settled in to Tommy’s comforting body again.

  “We good?” Tommy asked him, and Chase found himself mumbling the truth, spontaneously, with no prompting.

  “Tommy, I’m so
scared about tomorrow.”

  “Me too. When a dam breaks, it leaves a hell of a puddle.”

  “Bring your mop,” Chase joked feebly, and Tommy didn’t say anything to that for a minute.

  “I’m going to talk about the kitten some more,” he said apologetically, but that was fine with Chase.

  “Yeah. Yeah, do that. It makes me happy.”

  “Good.”

  Red Wall, Red Water

  THE boy was lying down, staring at the ceiling in a darkened room. The doctor’s voice was sonorous, soothing, and patient, and the boy’s eyes fluttered closed—

  “CHASE, are you doing it again? Seeing yourself like in a movie?”

  “Yeah, Doc. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I want you to go with that, okay? This time, I want you to see yourself, like in a movie. You’ve got the wide shot, and there’s this good-looking kid lying on a couch in his shrink’s office, and then I’m going to count backwards from ten. With every count, that camera’s going to get closer and closer, okay?”

  “Can I stop before it goes up my ass?”

  “This is a shrink’s office, not a porn set, kid. That ain’t where the camera is going and you know it.”

  Chase sighed. “It would be a lot more fun if it was going up my ass.”

  “For you, maybe. By the time I get to one, I want that camera in your head, where all the action is that you’re not telling the rest of us about, okay?”

  “Worst. Porn vid. Ever.”

  “And action!” The Doc’s voice slowed down then, soft and slow and mellow. “Ten. Okay, Chase, close your eyes and see yourself, just like I told you. You’re stretched out on the couch, your hands are crossed on your chest, and your breathing is regular… in and out… repeat. Good, and your body is relaxed. You’re limp, melting into the couch… completely at peace. Now, at the next count, the camera is going to zoom a little closer, and your breathing is going to get a little deeper, okay?” The Doc took a deep breath himself. “Nine. Good, can you see the expression on your face? Right now it’s all tense. I want you to relax your expression. We need to make it a good shot, right?”

  “Right.” Chase concentrated on easing the muscles in his face, making them relaxed, making them peaceful. The camera in his head saw that, and his breathing evened out a little more, and his bones seemed to melt, just like the Doc said, until by the count of four, he was just this big, peaceful blob on the couch, so serene he was almost unconscious.

  Three. And now the camera was inside his head, taking a look around.

  “What do you see?” And Doc’s voice wasn’t intrusive—it was like he belonged there, in Chase’s head. He had an invitation with the film crew to come inside and check shit out, and Chase’s job was to give him the guided tour.

  “There’s a red door,” Chase said, and for the moment, his heartbeat was pretty still.

  “Yeah? What’s it look like?”

  The description was so easy. He’d been looking at this door all his life.

  “It’s square, not like a rectangle, and it’s, you can see light all around it, at the seams. There’s water coming underneath it.” His breathing sped up a little, but he forced himself to calm down. He’d invited the film crew in, right? “Red water.”

  “Where are you, Chase? In relation to the door, I mean.”

  He looked up at the door, holding onto his knees and getting ready to pull them to his chest. “I’m sitting in front of the door, looking up at it.”

  “How are you sitting?”

  “Like a little kid, with my legs crossed and my arms wrapped around my knees.”

  “That’s a protective position, Chase.”

  Beat. Beat. Chase took a deep breath and swallowed. “The red door is scary.”

  “I know it is. Let’s not look inside it right now. Is there anything around you?”

  “No, it’s dark around me. All the light is behind the door.”

  “Okay then, how about smells?”

  “The toilet ain’t been cleaned for a while.”

  “Toilet?” Doc sounded puzzled for a minute, and Chase felt he had to clarify.

  “It’s behind the door.”

  “Oh. Okay. I understand. How about sounds?”

  “Water dripping.” Chase squeezed his eyes shut, and let the other sound permeate. “And him.”

  “Him?”

  “He’s yelling.”

  “Who’s yelling?”

  “Victor. My father.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s pounding on the door, screaming shit. Usual shit. ‘Get out, you little faggot! Just fucking open the fucking door! Stop that fucking noise! Stop crying, you little pussy, and open the fucking door!’”

  “And you’re not?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Had anyone ever asked him that question? Ever? “Because it’s safer,” he whispered. “It’s safer, in here with her, than it is out there with him.”

  There was a breath, and Doc’s voice was incredibly firm when he spoke again. “You said ‘in here with her’. Where are you now?”

  “I’m inside the bathroom.”

  “Are you alone?”

  Chase looked over to his left, and saw what he always saw. The closed eyes, the waxen, blue lips, the red-blonde hair swirling in a cloud in the scarlet water.

  “No, my mother’s with me.”

  “What’s she doing?”

  “Lying in the bathtub. Her eyes are closed, and she’s not moving.”

  There was a pause then, like Doc had to pull himself together, but that was sort of funny, because he was always together, right?

  “What color’s the water, Chase?”

  “It’s red.”

  “How’d you get into the bathroom?”

  “Well the faucet was running when I got home, and the water was coming under the door, so I opened it.”

  “Were you afraid?”

  “Naw. It was just water, right? I wasn’t afraid at all when I opened it, I just ran in.”

  “Were you afraid then?”

  “The… the water was all red, and she was naked, and you’re not supposed to be naked around kids, right?”

  “No. Was she taking a bath?”

  “Not anymore. She was just lyin’ there, with her eyes closed, and not moving, so I turned off the water and started talking to her.”

  “Did she answer?” The voice was gentle, like Doc knew how this ended.

  “No. She didn’t answer. But he was coming home, and he was coming home and that was always scary.”

  “Scary how?”

  Scary was such an amorphous feeling. Chase actually had to think hard to come up with the details that made Victor so scary to his mother.

  “Well, she’d clean the house faster when he came home or turn off the television and make me go do my homework in my room, and she hated it when he was coming home.” And suddenly, what hadn’t made sense when he was talking to Tommy made sense now. “So I couldn’t let him see her like this, with all the water on the floor, but she wasn’t moving, so I closed the door, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I closed it and I locked it, because I didn’t want him to come in. Because things just got worse when he came in. They got worse and horrible, and he’d call me names and she’d cry and I hated it when he came in. So he couldn’t come in. He’d yell at her if he came in. So I locked the door.”

  There was a digestive silence, and Chase was trapped in that moment, inside the bathroom, waiting for Victor to come home. It was a forever moment, one that didn’t have any breath.

  “What happened when he got home?”

  “Like I thought. He started pounding at the door and yelling, and I hated the yelling. I really fucking did. He started screaming at me, that I was a faggot and a pussy and all that shit, and that if there was anything wrong with her, I probably did it. And there was something wrong with her, right? She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t trying to get
up. She was just lyin’ there, and even if her eyes were closed, it felt like she was looking at me like I needed to do something, and he was yelling at me like it was all my fault. I was a faggot and a pussy and a nasty little shit and an obnoxious little fucker and it was all my fault.”

  The red door was bulging, the mass of the water behind it forcing it open, and Chase couldn’t make himself stand up to brace it closed. He couldn’t be two places at once. He couldn’t be sitting in that bathroom and talking to Doc and standing up to that door with the red water. It needed someone to hold it shut, and he couldn’t. He wasn’t standing up to it, forcing it closed. He wasn’t shoving or banging at it to keep it from bursting on him. No, there was nothing he could do to protect himself from that fucking red door, because he was on the floor, his ass in the water, holding onto his knees and rocking back and forth, rocking back and forth and sobbing, sobbing, with the effort to keep himself there, like he’d told Doc, sobbing because the red door was going to open and he was afraid, so fucking afraid, what was behind it was so awful, so fucking terrifying, it was going to rip him up and shred him into pieces and he’d never take a breath without his lungs being filled with filthy, bloody water and little bits of him.

  “How was it your fault?”

  “Oh God….” He didn’t want to say this.

  “Chase, she’d filled that bathtub when you were at school. You weren’t even there. How could it be your fault?”

  “Because I was… I was a little faggot, I was, and I kissed a little boy and she got called into the office and she was all in tears saying I couldn’t be, I couldn’t because he’d never leave me alone, he’d never leave me alone and I was the reason he hated me he hated us because I was I am I am I am—”

  The red door bent, bowed impossibly, the water roaring at the seams, and Chase wrapped his arms over his head to protect himself. In his head he heard the giant fracture as the boards cracked, the hinges ripped free, and the door burst open. The red water crashed over his head, shocking, painful, freezing cold, and the force of it slammed into his body and stopped his breath, covering him, wrapping him in red, until it filled his vision and filled his mouth and trammeled his chest, and even then, even under water, he could hear his own screams.