Smoke and Mirrors

by Lillian T. MacGowan

  The motorbus drew closer into the city proper, traffic slowed their progress, and he could see familiar places more clearly. Naim’s anxiety started to build as they moved into the city. In the dream everything was along the water; the crusty, industrial area where he’d lived for too long and which contained too many hideous memories, the café where he’d spent so many hours in the middle of the night when he had nowhere else to go, and the main street of the posh little neighborhood where his only friend, Étienne, had lived.

  He described the places to Deck, telling him what they were called and what of interest they held, if anything. He didn’t tell him what they meant to him. He kept his memories to himself. But the sadness and grief and thoughts of Étienne built up until he could no longer carry them all alone. He reached back behind him, and silently Deck took his hand, holding it firmly, lovingly, and without a question.

  Naim was safe. He was safe, and nothing here could hurt him anymore.

  But then the bus stopped in the middle of Étienne’s neighborhood, and Deck stood up with a bag, wished him luck, and exited, met by a group of friends laughing and slapping him on the back, welcoming him to a new life. Leaving Naim alone.

  Naim startled awake, still feeling everything he had in his dream, plus weepy and a little sick.

  He wasn’t safe. He wasn’t in Marseilles, but he was most certainly not safe.

  He scrubbed at his face and tried to erase the images from behind his eyes, all the images. He didn’t want to see Deck in that place. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see Deck at all, and why the fuck was the man invading his dreams?

  Rolling over, Naim reached for his phone and did what he knew he should have done three days ago; he called Frannie.

  “Hey, asshole, have you seen my wife?” Keller strode toward Deck, who was bored and humiliated on a granny-paced treadmill in the rehab unit.

  “Nope. Fuck off.”

  “Careful, rock star. You’re ready to shoot for the moon on that thing.”

  “I’m sorry. Did I not say ‘fuck off’ out loud, assbag?” Deck was a little bit winded, but he swore on his own lungs if the fucker said anything about it, they’d tussle. He gave Keller a filthy look and hoped he’d stay and hang out.

  Keller leaned against a stationary bike next to Deck’s treadmill and took out his phone presumably to text Jen. “Where’s everybody else?” Deck asked him. “Fucker,” he added, just in case.

  “Looking for your worthless ass,” Keller mumbled, fiddling with his phone. “We went to your room, but it’s all cleared out. I figured you died.”

  “They moved me down here, dumb fuck.”

  “Yeah, who found you down here, dumbfuck.” Keller looked up from his phone and curled his lip. “Lieb is probably breathing into a paper bag down in the morgue by now.” He chuckled at the image.

  “Or he’s in your wife’s office with his feet up on her desk.”

  “Fuck you.” Keller stood up straight and eyed Deck as though he had just suggested Liebgott was banging his wife.

  A physical therapist approached them, pushing a wheelchair. “That’s time, Mr. Dekker. Have a seat and rest for a few minutes. We’re going to start you on the grip ball next.”

  “Grip ball?” Keller repeated with delight, and Deck threw him another filthy look as the PT helped him into the wheelchair. Keller burst into laughter. “It’s okay, man,” he called out to the PT as he walked away. “He’s probably got a dozen of those at home.” The PT gave Keller a snippy look over his shoulder.

  “Did you actually want something, fuckleak, or are you just looking for cheap entertainment?” Deck tried to adjust his body in the chair, his left arm still in traction against his stomach. The hell kind of stick figure dwarfs were these things made for?

  “Want something from you? Fuck no.” Keller made a face, then paused. “Well, I didn’t, but now that you’re gonna fuck around with a grip ball, I can break the cherry on the video cam on this bad boy.” He waved his new iPhone at Deck, snorting.

  “Fuck you. Gimme that.” Deck grabbed for the phone and managed to snatch it from Keller’s hand.

  Keller went to grab it back and had a hold of Deck’s raised arm when they were interrupted. “What the hell are you doing to him?” Jen snapped, Liebgott by her side, striding toward them.

  Keller heeled instantly, throwing Deck a death glare. Deck chuckled gleefully and immediately began going through his phone.

  “Hey, baby.” Keller straightened and kissed Jen on the cheek, sliding an arm around her waist.

  Jen harrumphed in response. “Why are you assaulting a patient? Dear?”

  Keller looked confused. “He’s not a patient. That’s Deck.” He pointed to the wheelchair in clarification, where Deck was frowning over his phone. “And he’s got my phone.”

  Liebgott just shook his head as the PT approached again, a squishy purple ball the size of a fist in his hand. “Good afternoon, Dr. Keller,” he addressed Jen anxiously. “We’re just getting Mr. Dekker started on his—hand exercises.” The young man looked at Keller warily.

  Jen smiled. “Good afternoon, Kevin.”

  “WHAT THE MOTHERFUCK IS THIS SHIT?” Deck bellowed from his chair, startling everyone in the unit. Kevin dropped the ball in fear and scurried away.

  “Deck!”

  “Dekker!”

  “Douche.”

  “WHAT THE SHIT? ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME?” he roared, scrolling through Keller’s text messages.

  “Dekker.” Liebgott bent over him and leaned a hand on the armrest of the chair. “Lower. Your. Voice.”

  “What the fuck is this shit, Lieb?” Deck shouted at a volume that only no longer rattled the windows, and shoved the phone in Liebgott’s face. His face was turning red, his nostrils flared and veins in his forehead and neck throbbing. Liebgott yanked the phone out of his hand and looked at it as Deck breathed through his teeth.

  “Damn.” Liebgott closed his eyes. Jen gave her husband a questioning look, but Keller just shook his head.

  “‘DAMN’? FUCKING ‘DAMN’ IS ALL YOU CAN SAY?” The windows were rattling again, and Deck was trying to stand.

  “Deck, stop!” Jen went to him and put a hand on his good shoulder, trying to restrain him. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  “I’m already fucking hurt.” Deck snarled, fuming at Liebgott. “What the fuck, Lieb?”

  Liebgott looked to Keller, who had the sense to at least pretend to be somewhat sheepish. “Why is Dixon texting you?” he asked.

  Deck swung to look at Keller as Jen tried to nudge him back into the chair. “Why the fuck is Dixon texting anyone? And why the fuck wasn’t I told? Arson, Lieb? FUCKING ARSON?”

  “He needed someone to go with him to the scene this morning before our tour was up. He knew you couldn’t leave, so he asked me.” Keller shrugged.

  “Liebgott,” Deck snarled again.

  “Deck, sit down. You’re not well enough for this,” Liebgott started.

  “I’m not fucking well enough because someone FUCKING BURNED the fucking CLINIC DOWN.” His rage was epic, and Jen, usually immune to it, was concerned.

  “Deck, please sit. Please.”

  Slowly Deck sat.

  “We don’t know anything for sure yet,” Liebgott reasoned. “Try to calm down. And keep your voice down.”

  “He’s testing for accelerants today,” Keller told them. “We found some questionable artifacts in what looked like a storage closet—”

  “Does Naim know about this?” Deck interrupted Keller, trying to turn to the right to look at Jen. “MOTHER CUNT.” He swore as blinding pain shot up his neck and down his chest, back, and arm. He almost doubled over.

  “Deck, please calm down. This isn’t helping.” Jen hurried around and knelt in front of him as he clenched and unclenched his right fist, eyes closed and his face twisted in pain, frustration, and anger.

  Deck took a deep breath and attempted to calm himself. He gritted his teeth and still clenched his f
ist, but he’d stopped shaking, and his face was returning to something closer to a normal color if its heat meant anything. “Does he know, Jen?”

  “I think he suspects. I’m not sure though. I’ll talk to him when he comes in this afternoon, okay?” Her expression showed concern for more than just Deck’s health. “But, Deck, he’s not—”

  “Tell him to come and talk to me—” Deck demanded, and Jen took a breath. “Tell him, Jen.”

  “Okay. Okay, I’ll tell him.” She placed a hand on his knee and stood slowly, sighing. “I think we should go back to your room.”

  “What the fuck ever.”

  “Sounds like you’ve had a pretty busy week.” Frannie smiled at Naim.

  Naim snorted and studied his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. “The board will meet next week. I don’t even know if they’ll agree to rebuild.” He sat up and gazed somewhere behind her head. “If it was arson, they may just let themselves be intimidated and give up.” He started to bounce his leg. “If they throw their hands up and sell, goddamn Rizel will be right there waiting to swoop in and buy the property just like he’s been doing for two fucking years now.”

  “Your clinic meant a lot to you. That’s a pretty disturbing thought.”

  “Yup.” Naim pursed his lips and jangled his leg harder, folding his arms across his chest.

  “But you won’t know anything until next week.”

  “About that, no. I should hear more about the investigation results before that. Maybe I’ll call Laura when I leave here.” He thought out loud, his eyes wandering around her office.

  “Laura is the police officer, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And this man—Deck. She’s his friend as well?”

  Naim didn’t answer. His leg stopped moving, and he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees again. He stared at his grimy trainers.

  He knew this was what he was supposed to be talking about. But now that he was here in her office, he really didn’t want to.

  Frannie waited.

  He’d starting seeing her once a week about three years ago. A kid had come into the clinic shortly after it first opened. He was about thirteen, fourteen years old. A handsome boy with dark-chocolate-colored skin, a fine nose, wide lips, and cold, dead eyes. He was tall and slim and HIV-positive. Naim tried to talk to the boy, and the boy tried to sell himself to Naim, promising he’d use a condom.

  Naim shook and almost vomited into the sink.

  He never saw the kid again.

  He stopped eating and sleeping but somehow still managed to do his job and do it well. But when he wasn’t at work, he was holed up in his flat alone, shaking under a blanket on his couch. After a few weeks Jen noticed the severe weight loss and berated herself for not noticing the crippling depression that accompanied it. He didn’t tell her why or what had triggered it—not that it mattered to her anyway.

  She just asked him very simply if this was how he wanted to live.

  Naim broke down and wept in her arms until he cried himself into exhaustion.

  When he woke the next morning, Jen curled next to him, she told him quietly that he had an appointment with a social worker she knew. Someone she’d talked to herself, after what happened to her in medical school. He agreed immediately and had been seeing Frannie ever since.

  He usually saw her early Saturday mornings, but she’d been able to fit him in when he called this morning and yes, gave him shit for not calling sooner. She’d heard about the fire from the news.

  Now she wanted him to talk about Deck.

  “This fucking sucks,” he said, following his train of thought out loud.

  “What exactly sucks about it?”

  “Are you kidding?” He looked up at her. “Frannie. Have you met me?”

  “Yes. I have. That doesn’t mean I know what sucks about this.”

  “Frannie—” He stopped, not even knowing what he wanted to say.

  She waited, and he grew irritated.

  “I don’t even remember what it feels like to want someone. To actually, really want someone. To want to be with him. And have him want me back.” He spoke to the floor again.

  “Maybe it feels like this.”

  Naim laughed. “Yeah. So he thinks.” He sneered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “By what?”

  “You said, ‘so he thinks.’ What do you mean by that?”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. “Why are you making me say this shit?”

  “Because you pay me to.”

  Naim laughed and thought about what Deck had said. Sometimes I think I’m a lot cuter than I really am. He smiled then, thinking about it, thinking about Deck. Then he frowned.

  Frannie was silent.

  “He doesn’t know anything about me, Frannie.” Now he looked her in the eye. “He thinks he wants me. But he doesn’t know anything about me.”

  “You’ve only known him three days. You don’t know anything about him,” she pointed out.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I know you’re terrified of him—of anyone—finding out who you think you are.”

  Naim looked at her like she was stupid. “Right.”

  “And then what would happen?” she asked. “What would happen, Naim, if you told him every last detail about every moment of your whole life? What would happen to you?”

  “You mean now, or after I fucked him until his cock fell off?”

  “Either.”

  Naim didn’t answer. What would happen? Deck would run screaming into the night. Or possibly beat him to a pulp, then run screaming. That would suck. He’d hate him. He’d think… “He’d think I’m disgusting.”

  “Do you know that?”

  Naim blinked at her, surprised. “Well—yeah.”

  “You do? Really? Because I know a lot about you and I don’t think you’re disgusting.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “Well, as of this moment, you’re not sleeping with him either.”

  Naim snickered. She had a point. “But I want to. I really, really want to.”

  “Naim. You operated on him on Sunday, right?” Naim nodded. “He was impaled through the chest and back with a huge copper pipe, correct?” He nodded again. “I’m not a physician. That’s up to you. But my guess is that it’s going to be a while before he’s able to do much of anything with his cock.”

  Naim laughed a little. “True.” He thought for a minute. “Then again, you haven’t met him.” He thought of the spectacle Deck made on three doses of Dilaudid.

  “My point is that you have a tendency to get ahead of yourself. You’re worried about what might happen five stops down the road when you’ve not even gotten on the train yet.” He looked at her as she spoke.

  “Naim, you’re attracted to him.” Naim snorted bitterly. “And it sounds like the feeling is mutual. That should be a happy thing for you.”

  “Again. Have you met me?”

  “Yes. And you’re smart, funny, kind, compassionate, loving, and a lot of other wonderful things, and some not so wonderful things.” He squirmed. “You’ve met someone—which you don’t do—and you’ve connected. Pretty powerfully it sounds like. Let yourself enjoy it. You don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  He leaned on his knees again.

  “What if he doesn’t think you’re disgusting?”

  Naim stared at her, surprised again. The thought had never occurred to him.

  “What if—should you choose to share certain things with him about yourself—it turns out that he’s kind and compassionate?”

  Naim blinked as he thought about the possibility. He felt himself go hot and cold at the same time; his skin prickled, and his stomach twisted in a way that was not entirely unpleasant.

  “Isn’t it possible that someone might be able to know who you are now, and who you’ve been, and accept you as that whole, complete package. And still want you? Not in spite of it, Naim, but because of
it.”

  Tears were gathering in his eyes again. He thought about last night and the kindness on Deck’s face. Deck told Naim he’d been brave and automatically understood that his name was an insult. And he’d told Naim about his brother, allowing him to see the guilt and grief and shame on his face.

  Maybe. Maybe it was possible.

  “So Laura should be there any minute. If she’s not upstairs already.” Jen took a sip of her Coke and eyeballed Naim.

  “Good. Thanks. I meant to ring her earlier, but I didn’t have her number,” he mumbled to his burger.

  “Keller said he’d text you both if he heard from Dixon before anyone else,” she reassured him.

  “Yeah, it sounds like they’re taking it pretty seriously. I appreciate that.” They were silent for a minute, Naim munching thoughtfully while Jen stole his chips and watched him. She was just about to say something when he spoke.

  “Is that weird?” he asked her, squinting.

  “What? Is what weird?”

  “Keller. Calling him that. He’s your husband, and it’s your name too. Isn’t it a little weird?”

  “Ehh, well”—she shrugged—“not really. I guess it may sound weird, but no. I’ve never called him anything else. No one has.”

  “Why do they do that?” Naim frowned and smacked her hand as she snuck another one of his chips. “Why can’t they use first names like everyone else?”

  Jen chuckled. “Actually, it makes good sense if you think about it.”

  “How so?” Naim frowned, trying to find reasons not to like these people.

  “Well, I don’t know if it’s a fire department thing or what. Firefighting tends to run in families—”

  “Yeah, I’m getting that,” he said, twisting his mouth and thinking of Deck and his brother.

  “But they all have the same damn names.”

  “Huh?”

  “They all have the same names. I swear to God.” She looked at him, big-eyed and giggling. “There are nine men total on Keller’s squad: two Mikes, two Johns, two Franks, two Joes, and a Dave.” Jen ticked them off on her fingers.