Smoke and Mirrors

by Lillian T. MacGowan

  “Yeah. When we were in school everyone talked to me and Adam about our sister, and we were her brothers even though her last name is Lindstrom. But yeah, that’s why they won’t let us be on the same squad together.” He reached for a towel hanging on the back of a chair and squeezed more water out of Naim’s hair.

  “Because you’re related?”

  “Not exactly. Department policy is no immediate family but cousins can be on the same squad. But since everyone knows we grew up together, I guess they consider us siblings. They already moved her back to her old squad.” Deck had finally received his medical clearance and would be going back to work the following Tuesday. He looked forward to it, but they were going to miss each other.

  “But then how…eh, never mind.” Naim mentally kicked himself. He’d started to ask how Deck and Adam had both been at the plant fire, then realized that it was a bloody chemical plant: half of the department must have been there.

  Deck petted his head, hearing his thoughts. “They needed everyone there. They called in guys on their day off. Freya was there too, even though she wasn’t supposed to work that day.”

  “I’m sorry, chèr.” Naim turned his head and kissed Deck’s hand at his shoulder.

  “Don’t be. We talk about stuff, right?”

  Naim nodded and shivered.

  “You getting cold, love?” Deck asked, grabbing his zip-up hoodie off the back of a chair. “Here, you shouldn’t have wet hair on the back of your neck.” He draped the sweatshirt over Naim’s shoulders, covering his neck with the hood as Naim laughed. “What?”

  “You are such a mother. God, you really are as bad as Jen.” He shook his head.

  “I am not. No one is as bad as Jen.” Deck worked another snarl gently.

  “Deck. You cook my meals, you’re combing my hair, you bundle me up before I leave the house, and the other day you put Kleenex and cough drops in my bag.”

  “Well, you were sniffling. You’re a doctor.”

  Naim wasn’t sure what those two things had to do with each other, but it didn’t matter much. So far, Deck managed to nurture without smothering, and Naim suspected he might be the luckiest bastard alive. “Right, whatever. You’re going to make a wonderful mother someday.”

  They didn’t say anything for a minute. Deck finished combing, and Naim contemplated what he’d just said. He almost wished he could take it back because he knew Deck well enough to know he’d unwittingly planted a thought, and now they were about to have that conversation. He tried not to sigh.

  Deck took the towel to his hair again, then began dividing it into sections to braid. “Ya know, I do want kids someday,” he finally said.

  Naim sighed.

  “But not for a while. Like, at least a few years.”

  Naim started. That surprised him more than if Deck had announced he was going to start turning the spare room into a nursery tomorrow. “O…kay.”

  “I mean, we’ve only been living together for a week. That’s enough for right now.” He spoke and braided, and Naim blinked. “I think it’s going to be a while before I want to share you with anyone.”

  Naim smiled, warmed by the thought. “Besides,” Deck continued, fishing a hair tie out of his pocket because of course he had one there, “deciding between adoption and a surrogate is a big deal, even though Freya already said she’d do it.”

  “Freya?” Naim’s eyes went big, and he shifted them around in fear.

  Deck tied the end of Naim’s braid, moved in front of him, and straddled his lap, grinning. “Yeah. That would be cool. If Freya did it, then the kid would actually be both of our blood, right.”

  Naim blinked, terrified.

  “Buuuut…” Deck met his eyes. “That’s not something to think about for a really, really long time.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead to Naim’s, touching his cheek and waiting for his giant eyes to calm. “Don’t worry about it, love.” He grinned, amused by Naim’s fear. “It’s okay.” Deck kissed him, holding his face and grinning against his mouth.

  Naim took a deep breath and pulled away. “Okay.” He blinked and breathed. “Sorry…I just…” He shook his head. “Sorry, cupcake.” He smiled up at Deck, knowing he could relax again.

  Deck winked at him and slid off his lap, taking his hand and dragging him to the sofa where they curled up, Naim on his back, and Deck wrapped around him, his head on Naim’s chest. The TV was turned to a footie game. The more Deck learned about the sport, the more interested he got. And of course he demanded that Jen give Naim the following weekend off as well because it was March-mother-fucking-Madness final four. But this was their last day together before Deck went back to work, and it felt like a small good-bye.

  Naim was almost absurdly relaxed, Deck curled on his chest, already half asleep, and Sue draped across his calf like he was a balance ball. He petted Deck’s head softly and thought about him. One of the things that he and Frannie had talked about recently was how he worried now that things were too good. Exasperated and amused, Frannie offered to run him over with her car if that would make him feel better. He said that he meant specifically with Deck. She sighed and glared at him as he fidgeted.

  Then they’d talked seriously, and he genuinely asked her if something could be this perfect. That they could get along this well, be this compatible despite the glaring differences between them. Was it really possible for him to be this happy without knowing that something had to come along to fuck it up—that he was going to fuck it up. As they talked, he realized that in the end, the real issue was that he had to decide how he would handle it if and when that did happen. Beyond that, she pointed out to him that life was far from perfect.

  Naim knew better than to tell Deck about his slashed tires earlier in the week. He’d told Jen and made a report with Laura, both of whom laughed a little hysterically when he uncomfortably suggested that it was probably not a good idea to mention it to Deck. They’d looked at him like he’d just suggested it was probably not a good idea to slather themselves in blood and bacon grease and go swimming in a shark tank.

  Frannie, however, didn’t agree. She felt that he should tell Deck, reminding him of honesty and trust and partnership and blah blah blah. He knew she was right, even though Deck would likely have an embolism on the spot. But she’d calmly reminded him that he was a physician, therefore fully capable of handling any medical emergency Deck might present. He’d given her a dirty look but agreed to tell him—if something else happened.

  Naim smiled to himself. Deck was snoring lightly in tune to Sue’s purring on his leg, and they sounded the same. Fuck, he was so terribly in love. He kissed the top of Deck’s head, and Deck rumbled a little louder.

  It was barely four months and the changes both in his life and in him were astonishing. It had been Étienne, all those years ago, who’d taught him how to feel love. By having Étienne in his life, Naim had learned that beauty could be found in the world. That there could be more than hate, humiliation, struggles for power and dominance, and survival. As destroyed and broken as they both were, they found solace in each other, and it had given Naim a sense of hope. When he left Marseille, he’d left with the idea that he would use the chance at life that Étienne had given him to make a life for himself and for them. He would go back to Marseille, not as a nameless, disposable thing, but as a man; he would fetch Étienne and they would leave together, as real people.

  That thought had never left him as he created a life and new identity for himself. He never stopped thinking of Étienne and how they would make a life and a future together. But Naim had never contacted him. “Don’t look back, and don’t come back,” Étienne had said to him. He didn’t want to honor that request, but he did know that until he learned to stand on his own, he would never be able to help Étienne find his own strength.

  And then, five years later, he’d seen the story in the newspaper, the story that spoke of the death of the son of one of France’s most respected and wealthiest businessmen. The story told of
the great tragedy to the family and offered words of sympathy and kindness from local politicians and celebrities of note. It spoke of Étienne’s father, his accomplishments, his contributions to the country and communities, and offered condolences on behalf of the nation. Nowhere did it speak of the man as a pedophile and rapist, and only once did it even say Étienne’s name, forgotten and marginalized even in his own obituary.

  Naim had sat in the library at school, staring at the story until he shook with the reality of it, and for the first time since he was a child, forced to his knees in an ugly, cramped bathroom, he broke down, sick and screaming. Everyone near him gathered to help, frightened and uncertain. Someone called an ambulance, and Naim ran. He literally ran, and found himself near the Gare du Nord. He got on a train to Calais and the ferry to Southampton; the only place he could think of where they would let him be.

  Étienne had made his life possible, and he’d deserved happiness, joy, and love. Not a squalid, lonely death that served no purpose other than to further glorify the animal that had hurt him the most. And it was all made worse by the thing that Naim knew to his soul and he’d confirmed later.

  The overdose wasn’t accidental. Étienne had taken his own life.

  This was what Frannie fought with him about so fiercely, and what Deck didn’t understand. What Naim really was responsible for. If he’d not abandoned him, if he’d ignored the request to stay away and done the right thing, Étienne might not have given in to the hopelessness and grief and maybe, maybe he would have had a chance.

  Tears came quickly and easily as Naim remembered. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, working with difficulty through the sorrow and shame to bring himself back to the present. Deck and Sue, sweet and content upon him, his quiet, beautiful home and the life of love that he was making with this man that he’d never imagined could exist.

  Opening his eyes again, he looked down at Deck. Sleep and body heat caused a light sweat to shimmer on his brows and upper lip. His face pressed and nuzzled low onto Naim’s chest and his mouth hung slightly open, a tiny hint of drool gathering at the corner. Naim smiled adoringly, and a tear slid out of the corner of each eye. He reached up gently, so as not to disturb Deck, and wiped them away, sniffling quietly. He tried not to think about Étienne beyond the constant awareness of his, for lack of a better word, spirit, always close behind him. When he did, it was always like this; grief, regret, and remorse.

  Four months ago, when he’d first seen Deck—really seen him, lying in a too-small hospital bed, playful and silly, making a game of his spirometer exercises, breathtakingly handsome, confident, and charming—Naim had been overwhelmed and made himself sick with resentment toward Deck and Naim’s own self-loathing. He thought Deck’s flirting was careless and only reminded Naim that he would never be the kind of man someone like Deck would really want. Deck was beyond him, and it had broken his heart.

  Now, four months later, they were sharing a home, a life, and a future together. And looking at Deck, peaceful and content, Naim thought how easy it had become for him to believe that Deck really did love him. While it had been Étienne who taught him such a thing like love could exist, it was Deck who was teaching him how to love. It changed the way he thought about everything in his life; his work, the clinic, his friendships, and the future he’d envisioned for himself with Deck. Everything held so much more value now, and maybe he could be better. Maybe this was his opportunity to be the better man whom Deck believed him to be. He struggled with the desire to believe it was possible, and the hatred and apathy that he knew lived too close to the surface.

  Deck stirred and breathed heavily, and Naim’s melancholy was immediately lifted at the sound of Deck smacking his lips against his drowsy drool.

  “Why didn’t you tell me I was drooling on you?” He snorted and nuzzled around the wet spot on Naim’s T-shirt.

  “I didn’t even notice,” he lied.

  “Liar.”

  Naim laughed softly. “I didn’t care.” He ran his hands across Deck’s shoulders and into his hair, and Deck snorfled again, turning his head on Naim’s chest.

  “Going back to sleep, cupcake?”

  “Mmhmm.” His eyes were already closed. Deck was a champ at napping, especially after their vigorous morning. Naim snuggled down closer so he could breathe Deck in without having to bend his head. He closed his eyes and was soon asleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The city called Deck to inform him that they would finally start the cleanup on the clinic site the following Monday. Naim huffed and grew tense, not knowing what the hell they were going to do with that bill.

  “It’s my property. I’ll take care of it.” Deck dismissed him with a wave.

  “The hell you will.”

  “Naim—”

  Naim cut him off with a growl and a hard flick on his ear. “I’ll call Barrett. We’ll figure it out.”

  He wanted to see it one last time. He had no idea if they would be able to rebuild. The insurance company refused to pay off because of the arson, and it sat with him badly that Deck had purchased this useless black hole.

  But he wanted to see what was left one last time.

  So the Sunday before the cleanup began, he stopped after work to stand and stare in the cool early April night. It was just past midnight, and the street was fairly quiet. He could hear televisions nattering, babies crying, and some people fighting, but it still felt deserted.

  He knew he shouldn’t walk around on the site. The hazards were myriad, and he couldn’t see much under the broken streetlights. But he didn’t care. He wanted to take something with him. He didn’t know what, but he’d suddenly been gripped by the need to have some part of his dead, charred clinic to keep. Maybe to believe that something good could remain.

  That he’d done something good.

  He stepped carefully, scanning the ground, mindful of the wrecked pieces of the building above him. Bits crumbled and scattered over his head, depending on where he stepped, and it was like a life-size game of Jenga, only his brains were at risk.

  He cursed himself for being stupid, then laughed. Not even Deck could call him brave now. Mostly he’d just call him a dumbass.

  He moved toward the back of the wreck, skirting away from the bigger chunks of the building and avoiding anything that required climbing. He struggled and squinted in the darkness, scanning the ground for something he might want, and he almost settled on a small piece of brick when something white flashed in the corner his eye. He squinted harder at the mound of rubble that had once been that fucking bathroom and recognized the cast-iron tub, partially buried under the debris. Not a fucking thing there he’d want.

  Then he stopped and laughed a real laugh. Maybe there was something there that would remind him of the good. That was, after all, where he’d first encountered Deck.

  Naim headed in the direction of the tub. He heard things moving and chose to believe that the sounds were just bits of debris crumbling. But as he got closer, something felt off. In the darkness he could barely make out the tub as a splash of white, but he could feel something cold, and his stomach tightened on its own.

  He stopped moving and looked around, decades old skills coming back to him instinctively. He watched, listened, and tried to let his gut speak to him.

  Nothing changed.

  He cut his eyes to the ground, using his peripheral vision for any sign of movement around him.

  Nothing.

  But he could feel it. He knew. He just didn’t know what. The hair on his arms stood up, and his spine tingled.

  Eyes forward again, he took another step. Then another, then one more, and stopped suddenly, trying to catch anything but the sound of his movements.

  Nothing.

  He sighed, uneasy and frustrated. Naim had learned long ago to trust his instincts, so he wasn’t going to wave it off as rodents or debris. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t catch it. He bent carefully, picked up a piece of brick in case he needed a weapo
n, and moved toward the bathtub again, the eerie feeling of something missing, something too quiet, following at his back.

  It wasn’t until he was practically on top of the tub, about four feet away, that he understood what his gut had been telling him. What he’d sensed was the absence of life.

  He called Deck to meet him there after he called 911, not thinking that Deck’s house would be sent anyway. The top half of the body was deliberately buried under four inches of rubble, so he couldn’t see the face, but that didn’t matter.

  Naim knew who it was.

  “Can I see him?” he asked Laura. It was her night off, but Deck had called her when they left the firehouse, knowing she’d be useful in more ways than one. He wanted Naim to see a familiar face among the police.

  “Eh.” She hedged. “I don’t know, Naim. It’s not pretty.”

  “Laura, for fuck’s sake. I’m a surgeon.”

  Laura sighed. It took almost two hours for the police and fire department to set up enough lights and safety equipment to pull Play-Doh out of the wreckage. Keller was pissed and grumbled incessantly about how the kid was a fucking menace even with a bullet in his head. Liebgott tried to get him to shut up, and Bosko glared and huffed every time they passed each other.

  “Not real productive, man,” Spellacy mumbled to Keller, the blue and red lights of the ladder truck flashing across his face. “Think maybe Naim could do without that shit.”

  “Man’s got too much of a soft spot for that kid.” Keller scowled out at the site as Peyton and Liebgott lifted the body out of the tub and onto the stretcher that Bosko and Mac held up. “Not worth it.”

  Spellacy just shook his head and eyed Naim, who blinked hard at Mac and Bosko.

  Now they were stuffing him into the coroner’s bag, and Naim didn’t think they’d let him see the body once they got to the morgue.

  “I really need to see him, Lor,” Naim whispered.

  She glanced at Deck, who remained impassive. It wasn’t his decision. If Naim wanted to see the body, then Naim should see the body. She sighed again and called out, “Hang on guys.”