Broken Blue Lines: Love. Hate. Criminal Justice.: An FBI Crime Drama / LGBT+ Love Story
Page 22
This had been John’s idea, John’s order. That week at the Langley’s had been one of the most painful of his life. It had also reassembled pieces of his soul that he never knew had been broken. To be that vulnerable and to be loved and sheltered and held had broken down some kind of wall, releasing him from a prison he hadn’t known he was in.
Being dumped back at his apartment while John vanished had a whiplash effect, snapping him from safety to fending for himself in a blink.
Now prison?
Nick blinked and tried to shake off the sting. He’d promised John, an eternity ago when they were circling the whole anklet thing, that he wouldn’t resent it if he had to go back. He was in prison, he was supposed to be in prison, and any time outside was a gift he would appreciate to the fullest.
John hadn’t casually gone out of town, abandoning him. It had been that or get the partnership they both treasured torn apart. When it counted, when a trip back to Sing Sing after his escape attempt would have meant solitary confinement and utter misery, John had spared him.
But John was in another state, and his reaction to Nick’s life being in danger had been to throw him in prison.
Had John really had no choice in leaving town, or was he distancing himself from a suddenly broken, useless, and unstable felon? Had it been a matter of get this guy out of my house, this isn’t what I signed up for?
Probably. How else to explain how John had gone from doggedly preventing Wills from taking him into custody when his anklet failed to throwing him out of the house, leaving town, and sending him to prison?
“You going to be okay in dare?” Kasdan asked. He sounded anxious.
“Yeah.”
Nick twisted around to look at him. Poor guy still looked like he was in a heck of a lot of pain. “Neil ....I’m sorry I hit you. You’re wonderful, I loved working with you.”
“It’s okay,” said Kasdan. “I hope Peder has to go out of down again somedime. Be dice to work with you again.”
“You pressing charges?” asked Nick.
“Uh?”
“For punching you.”
Neil just reached out and took Nick’s cuffed hand, curling his fingers softly into his palm. “Of course not.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” said Nick. “I’m really, really not just saying that. I truly regret it. That was awful of me.”
“I’m sorry to send you to prison.” Neil squeezed his hand.
Nick squeezed back. “Nicest handler ever. It’s okay.”
“Okay, Aster,” said Wills. “Remember what I said about facing this with faith if it had to go this way?”
Nick nodded. He was calm, and relieved. But given that he’d flipped out on Kasdan, that might not remain the case. It was time for a fit of honesty with the person who was going to be in charge of his welfare for the next couple hours.
“Gary, I’m not one of those guys who’d rather die than be in prison. I’m basically okay with it, and I’m not upset. Okay?”
“Okay ....” Wills knew there was more.
“Since the beating, the idea of going back actually has scared me. Worst thing that’s likely to happen's getting shoved or tripped, but that’d really hurt.”
“Interject?” asked Wills. Nick nodded. “We’re putting you in the infirmary. Boring as hell, but no shoving.”
“Huh.” Nick was shocked he hadn’t thought of that. “That - that’ll work.”
Gary patted him on the arm. “Continue.”
“This is the first time I’ve hurt anyone in law enforcement, and it scares me. After I bolted, John tried to cuff me. I jerked away and screamed. When Agent Kasdan did it, I wanted to cooperate, knew he wouldn’t hurt me, and at the same time I was struggling and screaming and completely terrified.”
“Flashbacks, PTSD type thing?” asked Wills.
“Yeah.” Nick swallowed hard. “I’m okay with this, I plan to go in quietly and cooperate. But if I panic and struggle -- please know I don’t want to. I can hear you, I know you’re good guys and I’m trying with everything I’ve got. But -- I gotta be realistic and know you’ll probably have to use force, especially if it involves touching handcuffs or my head. I want you to know I understand, even if I’m screaming my head off.”
“Nick.” There was Kasdan’s sweet, gentle touch on his back again. “That was so obvious, buddy. And for what id’s worth, I’m dorry now I cuffed you. I saw a criminal. I should have seen the guy I been working with all day.”
“I’m sorry I dragged you into the Aster Drama Center,” said Nick. “Don’t feel bad.”
“I just chained up a co-worker who didn’t do anything wrong, and reminded him of the time he was the victim of a brutally violent crime at the dame time. I do feel bad.”
“Guys, thanks for being nice, but I understand this is a safety thing and it’s gonna happen. You don’t have to spare my feelings.”
“Understood,” said Wills. He sounded quiet and thoughtful. “Were you in pain? When he was cuffing you?”
“Yeah,” admitted Nick. “Not -- his fault, at all. But I was kind of in agony. One of the other agents threw me on the ground and I landed on my stomach.”
Wills whistled. “Does it hurt, being cuffed right now?”
“Yes.” Nick tried and failed to keep his voice from wavering.
The cuffs were digging relentlessly into cuts and bruises on his wrists because he didn’t have the strength in his strained and burning back and shoulder muscles to hold his own arms behind his back. It hurt terribly.
“Any form of restraint, and any kind of struggle, is going to hurt, isn’t it?” asked Wills bluntly.
Nick closed his eyes and nodded. “I’ll get through it. I just want you to know I’m not fighting on purpose.”
“I don’t know what the boys in the prison are gonna need to do,” said Wills. “That might not be pretty. But let’s keep talking through this. You planning to try an’ escape on the way there?”
Nick had to chuckle. “You think if the answer were yes, I’d actually tell you?”
“Nope. Wanted to see your reaction.”
“No,” said Nick. The answer made him feel oddly defeated.
“Okay,” said Wills, taking a deep breath. “I’m gonna make you the first person I’ve transported without restraints. We’ve got a sleeper van down there, has a comfy bed you can lie on during the drive. But one wrong move and we cuff you up, understand?”
Nick almost wanted to cry. The Marshals were merciless about having prisoners shackled hand and foot at all times, even if it was prolonged and miserable.
“Thank you.” He was so used to being in pain right now that he hadn’t even bothered to dread that journey, but he went limp on the floor in relief. “Thank you -- Gary.”
“Thank Langley. Let’s get those cuffs off you.”
When the Marshal took hold of the chain, the blinding fear returned, and he yelped and bucked away.
Wills backed off. “Nick, you okay with being touched? Seemed like it comforted you when Kasdan here did that.”
“Yes,” said Nick.
He felt sick. He wanted John, but he knew if the agent were there, he wouldn’t be able to look at his handler without glaring. How could you do this?
“Kasdan, hold his arms just above the wrist so he doesn’t yank the cuffs an’ get hurt when he struggles. Aster, deep breaths and try ‘an think about sea turtles or something.”
Kasdan held him, and Wills tucked a handcuff key into his palm.
“All I have to do is release one lock. You can do the other.”
When Wills twisted the key and swiftly removed the cuff on his right wrist, Nick’s back arched in frantic tension, and Kasdan had to hold his arms firmly, but he managed not to scream or struggle. They let him go instantly and he rolled onto his side and shoved the key into the other cuff and shed it with the frantic speed of someone trying to remove burning clothing.
“Thank you,” said Nick in relief.
Thank heavens for goo
d, smart, and kind people. He kept the key tucked into his hand. No, he wasn’t planning to escape. No, he didn’t think he’d get into prison with it. But it was sort of like keeping spare cash around. Why not?
“Key, Aster.” Wills was smiling, and sounded amused.
Nick gave him a sheepish look and the key. Kind and no idiot either. He found he liked Wills very much.
The Marshal helped him stand, and did a quick, professional pat search. Nick clenched his jaw and made himself count ceiling tiles.
But I don’t want to go to prison.
Yeah, like anyone does.
Nick bit the inside of his lip. He’d never minded pat-downs, because they were one of the few times he was actually touched by another human being. That was the absurd loneliness of being crammed into a building with hundreds of other guys and no privacy whatsoever. Everyone was so blasted homophobic that they wouldn’t be caught dead in any expression of physical affection.
The nicer of the COs usually patted him on the back after searching or cuffing him by way of thanks for the cooperation, and he got the feeling he was far from the only inmate who secretly took a certain comfort in it.
Wills patted him on the back. “All done.”
Nick snapped himself out of his self-pity. He was going back there for probably a few weeks until Fisher nailed Starr. He would be joining men who would never be free again. He could handle a brief period of obedience and boredom.
JOHN
John gulped and didn’t manage to chase away the emotion following Neil Kasdan’s call informing him that they had Nick. Nick had been terrified, and he ran. To the FBI. For a man who only ran away from things, that was monumental.
Ten minutes later, he was in line at the DC airport, clutching his phone, his tablet, and nothing else. He ran to the first ticket counter he saw, showed his badge, and begged for the next flight to New York. Any flight, any airline. His partner’s life was in danger. They found him a flight leaving in a half an hour.
He dodged between tourists and dazed commuters to the TSA screening line, and called Warden Chairon Welch at Sing Sing.
“Listen -- please be as kind to him as you can possibly manage,” begged John. “He doesn’t deserve to be locked up or punished. He’s been doing amazing work for the FBI, he’s loyal and wonderful -- you’re locking up my partner and my best friend here, and I know most inmates have someone who cares about them and would make this same plea, but ....please be kind to Aster.”
Welch sighed. “Langley, I’d like to think we run a humane facility here, much as a place like this can be. And Aster has a lot of friends on the staff. But we aren’t set up to give inmates special treatment, nor should we be.”
“I know.” John felt lost. Of course that was what it sounded like. “I’m not asking for special treatment so much as ....for him to be seen as an injured and vulnerable person, not some gangster.”
“We can keep him safe,” said Welch. “And secure,” he added with a slight trace of resentment. He was still stinging a bit from the embarrassment of Aster having walked out the front door of his prison. But he’d shown concern and empathy during John’s explanation.
“Look - I been following his case,” said Welch. “I saw the leaks. And I know what intake’s like. Scary, humiliating, and dehumanizing. Exactly like Rikers, minus the brutal beatings. He’s gonna be led down a one way path through his worst memories.”
John frowned as he took his shoes and belt off to go through the scanner. “Ah -- that’s exactly what I’m afraid of ....”
Welch huffed in frustration at having to spell things out. “Langley, I want you to listen to reality. If it gets rough, I don’t want you thinking of us as a bunch of thugs who abused your friend. There will be no cruelty involved, but it will probably be terrifying and painful if he flashes back and fights. I don’t want to end up being the subject of an FBI investigation.”
John closed his eyes briefly to focus his mind. “Warden -- I’ve heard him speak about your men with immense affection and respect. I promise you, he can tell the difference between abuse and unpleasant realities.”
“Yeah.” There was affection in Welch’s voice now. “He’s always been good that way. It’s a big part of why my men like him. We aren’t gonna mistreat the guy, Langley. But I’m just warning you ahead of time, intake’s gonna be rough.”
“You’re gonna have to talk ‘im through it,” said John.
The warden hesitated. “And if he freezes? Inmates who don’t comply get forced, scared or not. Half the inmates come in here scared to death, and the harsh lesson they need to learn is ‘I’m sorry you’re scared, but it doesn’t matter. We tell you to do something, you do it.’”
John closed his eyes in dread on Nick’s behalf.
“You know Nick. He’s always compliant. Well - he’s trying so hard to be that guy, but can’t right now. I’m asking you to please, show compassion for that. It’s his fault he got sent to prison, but it’s not his fault his anklet failed and he was made to view this process with terror.”
“I have enormous compassion for Aster.” There was plain rebuke in Welch’s tone. “And I will talk to the intake guys, and see if I can get someone who knows him in there.”
“Okay. If he can’t handle it, please don’t force him,” said John. “I’m at the airport, gonna catch the first plane back -- worst case, can you stick him in holding somewhere until I get there?”
“Langley ....” Welch cleared his throat. “I’ve got my own harsh view of this. Yeah, guys come in here scared, and that’s horrible for them. But they don’t stay that way. Aster is probably gonna get arrested in the future, and he panics on some cop, he’ll get the shit beat out of him. Might be better for him to come here and get forced to work through this. At least that way, I can brief my staff and they’ll know not to punish him for resisting. I can’t promise it won’t be terrifying or painful, but I think he’d come out of it less traumatized than more.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A Comforting Nightmare
NICK
Nick tried desperately to cooperate, but this was a form of shock and fear unlike any he’d ever known. He registered that he wasn’t being hurt or even talked to roughly. But he felt like he was participating in his own impending execution. He was trembling.
Five minutes ago had been a much different story. The trip to the prison was a pleasant one, lying comfortably in the camper van.
Neil Kasdan had decided to accompany them, and he took one look at Nick, walked away, and returned with a soft fleece blanket. He held up the “Starry Night” by Van Gogh in blanket form with a sheepish smile.
“One of my kids’ from the car.”
Kasdan covered him, and Nick almost laughed at the incongruity. Seated across from him were two stone-faced US Marshals with shotguns ready to hand. Another was at the wheel. Sitting on a shelf was the collection of high-security restraints he was supposed to be transported in, rendering him helpless and immobile.
And he was lying here in comfort getting tucked in like a kid. He caught the eye of one of the stern Marshals, who gave him a look that said, one wrong move and I’ll shoot you.
Thank you so much for taking this chance on me. Thank you, said Nick’s return gaze.
The Marshal blinked and looked away, his shoulders relaxing.
The rest of the trip had been almost fun, with everyone relieved and reassured by the fact that Nick wasn’t upset. There were smiles and jokes and teasing.
The officials refused to let them in the prison gate until Nick was dolled up in the coordinating steel outfit lying on the shelf. It wasn’t a big deal, he assured them.
He was queasy but clearheaded while Wills carefully applied the restraints, ankles first, then belly chain, finally and with a great deal of reassurance, the handcuffs. No punching, no screaming. He was fine. They exited the van, and one of the nameless US Marshals took a firm grip on his arm with one hand and the chain linking the cuffs with the other.
He didn’t realize he was walking until he felt his legs moving. He heard voices, but not what they said. He tried to see and just saw blank, white, a wall. Then he remembered he was brain damaged, and wondered if this was where the real insanity began. The line between reality and everything else was thin enough without being told your brain didn’t work right. A chilling thought occurred to him.