by Pandora Pine
“Yes and no. If his DNA isn’t in the system he can’t be identified. He hasn’t been caught so far, right?” Ronan didn’t sound pleased about that.
“Yeah,” Ten agreed. He hopped out of the car when Ronan parked it and looked up at the sun, needing to feel it’s warmth on his face. After spending such a long time in the morgue, he felt like he’d never be warm again.
“Are you okay?” Ronan asked, joining their hands.
“No.” Tennyson shook his head. “There are ten more boys out there that this man killed. I guess the good thing is that there are only ten and not twenty.”
“I was thinking the same thing, but we still have to find them. At this point, they’re needles in a pretty enormous haystack.”
“Do you think he marked them all the same way?”
“I’d bet my pension on it. Serial killers are meticulous like that. Some are ritualistic. It’s what usually leads to them being caught in the end.” Ronan pressed a kiss to Ten’s forehead. “Let’s get inside. You know the others are watching us through the windows.”
“If we didn’t just come from the morgue, I’d suggest giving them a show.” Tennyson wanted to crawl into bed and shut his eyes against what he’d seen. Justin had shown him what his murder had looked like, but seeing his cold, dead body was somehow much worse.
The bell jingled over the shop door when Ronan opened it and ushered Ten inside.
“We were wondering if the two of you were going to make out on the sidewalk.” Truman grinned.
“Taking bets, more like,” Ronan suggested.
“Yeah, well, since I lost I’m out a blow... I should shut up now,” Carson said.
“Oh, no,” Truman smirked. “I’m sure Ten and Ronan want to hear all about the sexual favors you owe me.”
Ronan held both hands up in the air like he was being robbed. “I’ll pass!”
“It’s good to see you.” Truman hugged his friend.
“Same, man, but why aren’t you home with your babies?” Ronan looked stunned.
“Being here with you and Ten is more important. Mrs. Salazar and her sister are with the babies. They call every day begging to come over and sit for the kids. I swear getting to help out is keeping them young.” Truman pulled up pictures on his phone and passed it over to Ronan.
Tennyson peeked over at the images. All of the pictures were of the sisters holding the triplets. Their smiles were brighter than the sun. “What about your parents, Truman?”
“They stop over on weekends, but I think the babies overwhelm them.” Truman shrugged, looking a little sad.
“You have to be all in with our kids.” Carson laughed. “It’s not a job for wimps, that’s for sure. Not that my in-laws are wimps. They’re more the pat the grandkids on the head and here’s a twenty-dollar savings bond type.”
“We’ll be over to see them again as soon as we get a breather on this case.” Tennyson smiled. “You know how calming babies are for me.”
“Well then, my friend, today is your lucky day!” Carson looked like Tennyson had just won the lottery.
“It is?” Tennyson didn’t feel so lucky. They’d just come back from seeing Justin Wilson’s remains and now they were about to channel possible victims of a serial killer.
“You’re both coming home with us tonight for dinner. Luisa is making that Dominican chicken and rice dish the two of you love.” Carson was all smiles.
“With those banana things?” Ronan’s eyes glowed.
Tennyson rolled his eyes. “You really are a caveman like Doctor Hoffman said. They’re called plantains.”
“Yes, she’s making those too. She knows you both love them.” Truman’s face grew serious. “Speaking of the morgue, how did it go?”
“There was DNA left on the victim. He, ah, used it to write on Justin’s chest.” Ronan shook his head as if he were trying to shake the visual out of his head.
“He used his own fluids to write on poor Justin?” Truman asked, wrapping his arms around himself. Carson wrapped an arm around his husband.
“What did he write?” Carson asked.
“The word eleven,” Tennyson supplied.
“So, you’re thinking that means there are at least ten more victims out there that he’s killed?” Truman sounded ill at the thought.
“What do you mean at least ten more?” Tennyson’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Ronan exchanged a silent glance with Truman. “He means there could be a twelve or higher that we haven’t found yet.”
“Sweet mother of God.” Tennyson felt his knees go weak. Thankfully Ronan was there to grab his left elbow.
“Why don’t we all go into the reading room and get set up?” Carson asked. “I’ll text Cole so he can come downstairs and meet us. Laurel should be up from her nap by now.”
Tennyson numbly followed Ronan into the back room where he and the Craig brothers held their private readings. It had never crossed his mind that “eleven” might not be the last number in the killer’s string of murders.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, babe.” Ronan pulled his chair next to Tennyson’s. “Only police officers are trained to think like that.”
“Why did Truman think of it then?” Tennyson felt his bottom lip tremble.
“I worked in Human Resources for twelve years. I had to enforce the laws of the company I worked for, so it was just like being a cop, only I didn’t get to frisk anyone or rough people up with my nightstick.”
“No, he just does that to me in the privacy of our own home!” Carson said happily.
“Oh, Christ!” Ronan scrubbed at his eyes with his fists. “I’ll never be able to un-see that.”
“I’m here,” Cole shut the door behind him. “What did I miss?”
“You don’t want to know,” Ronan muttered.
Cole shot his brother a questioning glance.
“Truman was talking about frisking me,” Carson supplied.
Cole grimaced. “I should learn to trust Ronan more. He’s never wrong.”
“Are we ready to start? Do we need to link hands or…” Ronan looked around at the three psychics in the room who were laughing. “What? Is Bertha standing behind me?”
All three men nodded. Tennyson waved.
Ronan turned in his seat. “Hi, Bertha. It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see me, my foot. The only time Handsome wants to see me is when he needs me to round someone up. I’m not a cowboy, you know.” Bertha crossed her arms over her chest and winked at Tennyson.
“It’s nice to see you so feisty.” Ten bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “You’ve got a good point, Bertha, but we wouldn’t have asked if this wasn’t so important.”
“Good point about what?” Ronan looked worried.
“Mom thinks the only time you want to see her is when you need her help.” Cole smirked.
“Now come on, Bertha. You know I can’t see or hear you like the others can.” Ronan whined. “These boys that are possible victims are all gay like us, but for a lucky break here or there, or an amazing mother like you, what happened to Justin could have happened to any one of us. I don’t want this bastard to hurt one more teenager.”
“Now he’s just kissing my rosy red ass.” Bertha laughed.
“You have to admit he’s got a point, Mom.” Carson grinned before he turned to Ronan. “She thinks you’re kissing her ass.”
“I’m not. This is too important. Tennyson’s parents turned him out on the street after graduation. If he didn’t have this gift, what would have happened to him? Where would he have lived? Who would have kept him warm and safe?” Ronan shivered.
Tennyson went to reach out to Ronan, but saw Bertha set her hands on his shoulders instead.
“He’s lucky to have you, Handsome. You need to let the guilt go over your ex. Just like the song says.” She set a hand on Ronan’s head. “Let it go, Ro.” Bertha shut her eyes and pressed a kiss to the back of Ronan’s head.
Ten
nyson watched spellbound while Ronan’s eyes slipped shut. It only lasted for three or four seconds. Ronan probably didn’t even realize what was going on. When Bertha stepped back, Ronan’s electric blue eyes popped back open.
Ronan yawned. “Damn, this has been a long day. Are we ready to start?”
“Well, Mom? Are we ready to rumble?” Cole asked, laughing.
“Finding teenagers isn’t as easy as it was with Michael Frye, but don’t despair. I’ve got number five for you.”
Tennyson’s eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his head. “Number five?”
“Meet Austin Roberts,” Bertha introduced.
A skinny spirit stepped forward, wearing skin tight jeans and a purposely shredded tank top. It reminded Tennyson of concert tanks in Def Leppard video from the late eighties. He was wearing heavy eyeliner and metal studded cuff bracelets on each wrist.
“Hi, I’m Austin,” the boy greeted.
“Oh, thank Christ! You can talk.” Tennyson breathed a sigh of relief. He turned to Ronan. “His name is Austin Roberts. Bertha introduced him as number five.”
“Jesus,” Ronan muttered.
“I’ll take notes,” Carson opened his reading notebook and clicked open his pen.
“Every detail counts,” Ronan added.
“Austin, we’re investigating a possible serial killer and we think you might be one of his victims,” Ten said gently. The boy looked perfect and whole now, but delicate. He’d bet this boy had been very feminine when he’d been alive. “Can you tell us about yourself and how you ended up…”
“How I ended up dead and loving it?” he asked in a high-pitched tone, his hands waving in the air.
“Yeah, that!” Carson laughed.
“My mother was one of Bertha’s clients. She was my biggest supporter and my best friend. She worked the night shift at the New Balance Factory over in Boston. One night some drunk asshole thought it was a good idea to drink tequila shots and then drive home the wrong way on the highway. Hit my mom head-on. She died instantly. I had to go live with her brother in New Hampshire. Guy was a total tool. Into guns and living off the land. Hated the fact that I was a ‘fucking flamer.’” Austin made air quotes. “Those were his asshole words. Not mine. I lasted six months living there. I stole as much money as I could and ended up in Boston working as a waiter. One night a customer offered me a hundred bucks for a blowjob… It was all downhill from there.”
“Christ, that’s one hell of a story,” Carson sighed and pushed his notebook over for Ronan to read.
Ronan turned to Cole. “Is Austin okay with answering some questions from me?”
Cole nodded. “Mom explained to him that’s why he’s here.”
“Austin, my name is Ronan O’Mara. I’m a detective with the Boston Police Department. Can you tell us what happened the night you were murdered?”
Carson’s pen was poised to write.
“I got an out-call to meet a client at a hotel in Revere. It was the Beach Inn on Ocean Drive.”
“He met his killer at the Beach Inn on 1A in Revere,” Carson repeated as he scribbled. “Did you know him?” Carson asked, winking at Ronan as if he’d read the detective’s mind.
“He looked familiar, but it could just be he had one of those faces. Dark hair and eyes. Medium build. No tattoos or scars that I can remember. He was all-over average.”
Tennyson recited the details while shaking his head. This would be so much easier if Austin could have given them a name.
“What happened when he had you in the hotel room?” Ronan asked.
“He’d barely shut the door behind me and before I knew what was going on, he cold-cocked me. When I came to, I was tied to the bed and he was choking me with his dick. Felt like he did that for hours. He’d do it until I passed out from lack of oxygen.”
“Bastard did the same choking game with Austin that he did to Justin.” Tennyson knew to expect this, but it still rattled him all the same. To think about the way this young boy suffered made him sick to his stomach.
“Did he kill you in the hotel room?” Ronan asked.
“No.” Austin shook his head. Tears pooled in his eyes. “He hit me again and when I woke up, I was lying naked in a field. Said it was time to die and he showed me a knife.”
Carson translated again.
“Do you remember him masturbating over you at all or the feeling of dried ejaculate on your skin?” Ronan asked.
Carson shot the detective a horrified look.
The young man shook his head. “He did that after I died. I stood there outside my own body and watched him do it.” Austin shivered.
“It was after he died,” Ten relayed to Ronan. Tennyson turned to the young spirit. “I’m so sorry he did that to you, Austin. Do you have any idea where that field was? Or if your body was claimed by your uncle?”
“That hateful ass wouldn’t want me back. As for where I was left, I know the place like I know my own name. It was the Salem Commons near the Witch Museum.”
“Oh my God. You were left here in Salem? Half a mile away from here?” Tennyson sucked in a ragged breath. “Do you mind if we take a break?” Without waiting for an answer, Tennyson bolted from the room.
20
Ronan
Ronan followed Tennyson out into the main store. He was having a hard time figuring out what had upset Tennyson more, speaking with another gay teenager who’d been put out on the street or knowing that he was murdered only a few blocks away from where they were all sitting.
“Hey, are you okay?” Ronan stood behind Ten, not sure if his lover wanted to be touched right now.
Ten had tears in his eyes when he turned around. “Sometimes it just gets to be too much, you know? We live our lives, Ronan. We eat, go shopping, exercise, go to work. I don’t always remember I’m gay. Like, it’s not foremost in my mind. I’ve got to buy milk, or meet a client, or get new tires. But then there are times like this when it’s all-encompassing, when people are dying because of it.” Ten shook his head.
“Come here.” Ronan hugged him tight. He knew what Tennyson was saying. Not that Ronan was a student of serial killers, but there weren’t too many who preyed on gay men. He would need to do some research on that, maybe even talk to an FBI profiler, but all of that could wait. “We’re going to get through this together with our friends. We’re going to stop this bastard before he can hurt another one of us. Okay?”
“Another one of us?” Tennyson pulled back to look Ronan in the eye.
“We’re all one big gay family. Hurt one of us, you hurt us all. Dry your tears. We’ve got a witness to finish interviewing.” Ronan patted the side of Ten’s face and walked back into the reading room. He wasn’t about to let one more young man die on his watch.
“Is Ten okay?” Cole asked.
“Yeah, he just needed some air. We’ve been working long hours.” Ronan needed to rein in his own emotions. The idea that these teenagers were dying because they were not only in the wrong place at the wrong time, but were also gay, was gutting.
“More like fucking long hours,” Carson muttered.
“Jealous?” Ronan sniped.
“God, yeah. I’m so damn tired at the end of the night. I love those babies, but damn, they’re little vampires, sucking every ounce of energy out of us. We get into bed and we don’t even have the strength to wink at each other, let alone fuck.” Carson sighed.
“Jesus Christ, Carson! Yeah, Ma, I know! He always had a big mouth when we were growing up! TMI, you two!” Cole covered his eyes.
“What’s going on?” Tennyson asked. He looked exhausted.
“Carson was proving how loose lips sink ships.” Ronan rolled his eyes.
“Where is Austin?” Tennyson looked around the room.
“He was feeling worn out,” Cole answered.
Ronan could understand that. Living witnesses always felt exhausted after retelling the story of the night they’d been attacked. He had no doubt it was any different for the de
ad. “What’s our next step here?”
Carson reached a hand out to Tennyson. “Aren’t you going to get in touch with the Salem Police and the local morgue to find Austin’s remains.”
Ronan found his first smile in what felt like days. “Well, Captain Fitzgibbon didn’t exactly like our level of empathy with Justin’s parents, so he doesn’t want us making any other notifications.”
“What are you talking about? Truman looked confused. “Ten is the most empathetic person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”
Ronan snorted. “Not when it comes to parents who turn their sixteen-year-old son out onto the street because he likes to kiss boys instead of girls.”
A small muscle started ticking in Tennyson’s jawline.
“Relax, babe. It’s going to be okay.” Ronan squeezed Tennyson’s right shoulder in what he hoped Tennyson would find reassuring.
“I wish you’d stop saying that, Ronan. It’s not going to be okay until that son-of-a-bitch is dead or behind bars.”
“You’re right. I’m just worn out already and we’ve only identified two victims. We still have to determine where Austin’s body is. Hearing that his uncle won’t want his remains is breaking my heart.”
“We talked about that while you two were out of the room,” Truman said. “It’s a modern-day witch hunt. I think it’s something the LGBTQ citizens of Salem will rally behind.”
“What are you talking about?” Tennyson looked to Ronan.
“I want to hold a fundraiser of some kind at the bakery in conjunction with the shop to raise money for Austin’s funeral and burial costs. From what you’re saying there are going to be more victims who might not have a family willing to claim them and lay them to rest. We want to be their family.” Truman’s eyes were uncharacteristically glassy.
“That’s what we’d call the charity, We Are Family. Just like the song.” Cole’s eyes were looking a little misty too.
“Thanks, Mom. We’re proud of you too for finding Austin and bringing him here to talk to us.” Carson looked down at his notes and then up at Ronan.