by A. Nybo
The sheer fortitude it would take to survive something like that left Birch astounded. As crazy as Birch had thought Henri initially was, in hindsight, Henri’s eccentricities and mood swings could only be seen as understated responses to what he’d experienced.
Returning, Jason set a soda on the table in front of Birch and cracked the top of his. He took a long pull before clearing his throat and continuing as though he hadn’t moved. “He spent months in various hospitals. Russell had fractured his jaw in a number of places when he pulled several of his back teeth out, and some of the burns had become infected, but the psychological fallout was the worst.”
“Jesus, Jason.”
“You’re not the first to call me Jesus Jason, you know.”
“What?” Jason was still wearing his pathetic grin when Birch finally caught on and offered a pathetic smile of his own.
“That’s the way.” Jason’s gentle tone presented a new facet to the large man. He leaned his elbows on his knees and looked up from beneath his brow. “You know you can’t go back in there and be all horrified, don’t you?”
Birch gave a single nod of acknowledgement.
“My guess is that the look you’re wearing at the moment is why Henri asked me to tell you.”
Birch couldn’t begin to imagine what expression he was displaying. The twisting, writhing discomfort in his stomach, chest, and throat seemed to keep spiralling tighter. “I don’t know how he’s made it back.” His voice was little more than a whisper.
“He nearly didn’t on more than one occasion.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to understand some of the allusions he’s made. I take it he tried to suicide?”
Jason nodded for a long time before he answered. “Twice. About four months after he was pulled from the scene, we got word that Janice had been killed.”
“Your sister?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
With a grim expression, Jason nodded acknowledgement. “She and Henri were each other’s wingmen. They went to uni together, shared a house for years, and travelled the same circle of friends.”
“How did she die? If you don’t mind telling me, that is.”
“Like Henri, she was a photojournalist. She was on assignment in Syria when she was caught up in a bombing.” Jason sat in quiet thought for a moment before continuing. “Henri was barely hanging in there, but Janice’s death just sort of…. I dunno, it just sort of crippled him.”
“The death of a close friend is hard enough.” He’d had personal experience of how heart-wrenching it was to have someone disappear from your forever after in the time it took to turn around.
“The second time he tried was a few months later. He told me he needed it all to stop.”
“Needed what to stop?”
Jason shrugged. “The noise in his head, I guess. To try to counteract it, they had him so hopped up on medications he didn’t know his own name half the time, but he could still recite some of the things Russell had said and done to him. He, ah….” Jason waved a dismissive hand and looked away. He took several deep breaths.
Birch waited. He was fairly sure he didn’t want to hear what Jason had been about to say. Jesus, how pathetic did that make him? He didn’t even want to hear it, never mind live it. Maybe that had been the expression Jason had nailed him on. How difficult would it be to tell someone about an experience you hadn’t fully come to terms with yet but still have to console the listener because they became emotional just hearing it?
“Anyway,” Jason said, “after about a year he ditched the medications and the therapies and pretty much went it alone. He reckoned the medications wrecked his mind so much that he couldn’t work his way through shit, and he said some of the therapies kept him reliving it, almost as if they were making sure he’d never forget one tiny detail.” Jason shrugged. “Whatever, he seemed to improve faster, but whether it was a cumulative thing or not, who knows? It worked for him.”
“Did he come to Canada because Russell escaped?”
Jason shook his head. “He was already here.”
They sat in silence for minutes before Birch broke it. “I can understand why he doesn’t like to be touched, but I noticed you tend to ignore the way he flinches from it. Is that something you’ve agreed on?”
“No. But I refuse to let him sink into himself completely. He did that before, and it was a setback that took him months to recover from.”
“I can’t believe he’s so… normal.”
Jason barked a laugh. “Yeah, well, just remember you said that should you ever enter a room to find the table and all the chairs upturned, leave the room, come back two minutes later, and find them upright again—no sign of anyone.”
“He did that?”
“Amongst other things. First time something like that happened, I thought I was losing it. He stayed at my place one night, and he moved all the shampoo, soap, and everything from the shower recess. I was away from the bathroom for no more than a few minutes, and when I returned, it was back where it usually was.”
“Hell, I can’t begin to imagine what it would be like living like that.” Raising his soda to take a drink, he glanced up and saw Jason smiling at him. “What?”
“He must really like you, to ask me to tell you this stuff.”
“Maybe he just feels I should know what’s going on considering my house, car, and my health is invested in it.” Although Birch truly hoped Henri liked him—a lot.
Knowing what he’d been through alleviated a lot of the concern Birch had regarding Henri’s moods. Contrary to how irrational he had appeared at times, his behaviour was definitely not irrational.
“While he’s got a point,” began Jason, “since it is clear Russell sees you as standing between him and Henri, I don’t think that’s the only reason. It wasn’t necessary for you to know specifically what happened to him. Especially since, as you say, you have so much invested in it.”
Birch didn’t want to speak about what may or may not be happening between him and Henri—not with Jason anyway. With Henri, well, that was another matter. “I don’t understand why Russell would think I’m standing between them. Before Russell attacked me, I’d only met Henri once.”
“I’m not going to pretend I understand his psyche, but think about it. You helped Henri evade him. Not many people would do that. Even less would do it effectively—which you did by getting him to the police station.”
“Did Russell ever give any indication of why he’s so obsessed with Henri?”
“Not really. They couldn’t agree on much, but the one thing the shrinks that testified could agree upon was that Russell is a predatory stalker with a sadistic paraphilia.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“He got pleasure from the videos he made of Henri’s torture.”
So that’s what Henri had meant when he said Russell had gotten off to the videos, but it wasn’t anything Henri perceived as sexual in nature. Hell, he’d definitely have to pay more attention to the undertones of things Henri said about his past. Jason’s comment about Russell having a soul black as pitch was an understatement.
“So what do we do next?” Birch asked. “Stay here like sitting ducks waiting for him to find us? What?”
“The Mounties have been brought in via Interpol, so not only do we have the RCMP on the case, but Mike has more of our team out there as well. Along with the OPP, they’re doing all the legwork. Nate and I are just sitting on you guys as another line of defence. Still don’t know how Russell got here, but they’re looking into Henri’s idea about potential allies. Of course, that’s a hard one because the prick could have parachuted in for all we know. A plane wouldn’t even have had to land. Or he could have come in via Alaska. There is just so much wilderness.”
“I guess it makes it difficult when he is so highly trained. And the buck-passing between government agencies doesn’t seem to help anyone but Russell.”
“Yeah, well, being in
prison obviously hasn’t dampened his interest in Henri.”
“Do you think that might be why he escaped? Because Henri left Australia?”
Jason looked at him with such intensity, Birch felt he might be rifling through his innermost secrets for the answer. “You might have a point there.” And then he pondered aloud, “But how would he know Henri had left?”
“C’MON, BIRCH. How about it?” asked Henri.
It was midmorning, and Birch sat on the back porch, watching Henri rest his back against a support beam, one bare foot on the ground and the other on the porch, as he changed the settings on his camera. His loose hair created a curtain around his downward-tilted face.
Birch smiled at Henri’s persistence. “No.”
Henri’s long fingers manipulated settings, clicking and twirling. Mesmerized by the movements, Birch watched as they left the camera and moved up to tuck hair behind a small ear. When Henri raised his head and lifted the camera to look through the lens, the way his hair was tucked gave him an appearance of freshness. The stirring low in Birch’s gut caused him to avert his gaze, but it went straight back to Henri as if he had no control over his eyes. He couldn’t seem to keep his attention away from him.
Being confined to the house and backyard would have bored him silly if it wasn’t for Henri’s presence. Being around him sparked a sense of exhilaration, and on occasions when he could draw it out, Henri had a sense of humour Birch enjoyed tremendously.
He heard a soft click that he hadn’t heard previously. “Did you just take a picture of the ground?” asked Birch.
“Huh?” Henri’s face scrunched slightly. “Why would I do that?” He turned the camera over, the lens pointing at the sky, and there was another soft click. There was another as Henri turned the camera so he was looking down the barrel of the lens.
“What’s the clicking?”
“I’m just changing the f-stop.” He pointed the camera towards a tree in the back of the yard, and there was a rapid series of clicks. He looked at the screen and mumbled, “Still too bright.”
“Perhaps you should wait until dark, then,” Birch teased.
“Come on, Birch,” Henri coaxed. “What else is there to do?”
“Well, if I agree to be your subject, do I get to ride you?”
Henri froze. His eyes widened. “What?”
Birch snorted. “That wasn’t what I meant. I wasn’t thinking about that.” Which wasn’t entirely true. Lately, Henri’s presence always brought the topic of sex to the forefront of his mind. “I was comparing your job to mine.”
Henri’s surprise slid into a wicked grin. “I’m not an easy ride.” He continued to play with the f-stop, turning the camera this way and that as he altered settings.
“It’s been a long while since I’ve been bucked off.” Birch struggled to restrain his smirk but then gave in.
“Bucked off or s…. Never mind. Forget that. Will you be my subject?”
Birch pretended he didn’t know what Henri had been going to say. “What do I have to do?”
“Just sit and look fabulous.”
Birch raised a teasing eyebrow. “So I don’t have to do anything?”
“No.” Henri smirked.
He leaned forward in his chair. “Okay then.”
“Excellent! Thanks.” Henri rose and began walking away.
“The offer only lasts two minutes.”
“S’okay. We’re done.”
“What do…?” Birch sighed in acknowledgement of his gullibility and sat back in his chair. “The f-stop doesn’t make that clicking sound, does it?”
Henri chuckled as he opened the door. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Nope.”
“Am I going to have trust issues with you, Henri?”
The way Henri’s face blanked for a moment made Birch consider what he’d said. He’d just begun to worry he’d poked a sore spot when Henri’s soft, warm smile flooded through Birch like the shimmer of a heat wave. It came as a reminder not to tiptoe around him.
A spark of mischief came into Henri’s eyes, and the low tone of his voice went straight to Birch’s groin. “Only when I want to take pictures of you.”
Oh Jesus. Now wasn’t that an image?
“Flirt,” accused Birch.
Henri laughed and went inside, leaving Birch to contemplate the pictures of Henri he wouldn’t mind having.
Chapter 9
WITH HIS computer set up on the kitchen table, Henri sat working on the photographs he’d taken of Birch that morning. There was a particular shot he’d taken of Birch leaning back, a bare foot up on the seat of the chair, knee fallen outwards. Birch’s head was turned slightly, but his eyes were on Henri, a grin shining through barely parted lips.
By changing the photo to black and white and blurring the background, the focus was entirely on Birch. It was a nice shot, but the money lay in the mischievous sparkle that layered over a deeper emotion in those dark eyes. Although he’d been the only one there and knew the look was directed at him, Henri still had trouble assimilating the knowledge. Birch’s expression was so profoundly beautiful.
While he worked, Birch and Jason were discussing some house renovation program they were watching in the other room, although he could only hear snippets of the conversation. He smiled when Jason swore good-naturedly at Birch and guessed Birch was teasing him.
His phone vibrated on the table and gave him a start. He looked at the number before letting it go to voicemail. After a few minutes, he dialled his message bank and listened to the Canadian accent as it went through the preamble. While he waited, a beep signalled the arrival of a text, but he ignored it.
Even though Henri expected it, the moment he heard that gravelly voice, his breathing became erratic.
Henri, I’ve missed you. You’re looking well. I hope that boyfriend of yours appreciates you as much as I do. But you and I will be together soon. I’ve sent a photo for you.
He drew breath. With a trembling hand, he pulled the phone from his ear and clicked on the message. A photo popped up. He had expected some humiliating picture of himself, but what he saw speared him with terror.
Staring aghast at the photograph of Nate walking around outside the safe house, he tried to call out for Jason, but the pathetic sound that came from his body was little more than a muted whimper. Just then, the door opened. Henri was rooted to the spot. Nate came around the corner. A flicker of relief shot through him knowing Nate was safe, but he was still unable to break through the paralysis.
“Jesus, Henri! What’s wrong? Jason!” Nate came hurrying towards him.
Oh God. Oh God. Nate was going to touch him. A low keening sound came from him and grew louder as Nate approached.
The impending touch broke the paralysis, and he threw up his hands to keep Nate away as he shot to his feet and backed up. Nate stopped. Jason and Birch entered the dining area.
Aware Russell might be watching, Henri snapped glances out the window, towards the three in the room with him, and then back out the window. No matter how wide he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see enough, couldn’t take it in fast enough.
He raised the hand that still held the phone and held it out to Jason, but as Jason stepped forward to take it, Henri’s body reacted, and he shrank back a step, taking the phone with him.
Fuck!
He tried again, but when he did the same thing, he gave up and slid the phone over the table to Birch, who passed it to Jason.
Jason brought the phone to life and saw the picture on the screen. “Nate, secure the house. Do not go outside.” Nate was on it before Jason cleared his own phone from his pocket and began dialling.
“Message,” Henri croaked.
Jason accessed Henri’s messages while continuing to dial the number on his own phone. With a phone to each ear, Jason listened to the message until the person he’d rung answered.
“Geoff? Jason Lemalu. We have contact. He is surveilling the safe house. We need reinforcements and a new addre
ss.” The moment he hung up, he dialled another number. “Mike? He’s here outside the safe house. I’ll try to… what the fuck?”
When Jason raised his eyes to meet his, Henri quickly averted his eyes. The message had obviously finished, and the phone had automatically gone on to announce the undeleted messages. Henri shrank inwardly. He wanted to disappear into the wall and never come out.
“Sh! Stop talking, Mike.” Jason continued to listen to the messages. “Oh Jesus, Henri.”
Henri staggered back. The strange mixture of sympathy and censure in Jason’s voice was like a surgical blade to his emotions. The slice was too quick to be blocked by his defences, and tears were the blood that slowly welled from the wound. He sought escape, but with Birch blocking the exit on one side of the table and Jason the other, he was cornered.
“Mike, I’ll have to call you back.” Jason terminated the call, and the intensity of his attention was divided only between Henri and the voice on the phone. Henri closed his eyes as he recalled one of Russell’s diatribes, and the jarring force of his failure to ignore the messages hit like a ton of bricks.
Do you know what alulae means, Henri? Alulae is the bastard wing on a bird. It’s like a smaller wing inside the wing, if you like. It’s more prominent on predatory birds like eagles and hawks. And when a bird attacks, the bastard wing lifts a bit and allows the bird to go slower than usual without stalling. I reckon that’s what we’ve got going on here. Your fears are my bastard wing, Henri. They give me that lift that allows me to go slower… so much slower.
Awareness of another voice crept in. Henri focused on it until it overtook the gravelly tone that talked to him most nights, keeping him awake.