by A. M. Arthur
“All right, I’m going to get this description over to Daffy’s and see what I can find out. We may need you to sit with a sketch artist at some point.”
“Okay.”
Wolf handed over a business card. “If you remember anything else you think might be helpful, call me. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
Will settled back into the bed, a little relieved that not only did the adults in the room believe him, but they were acting on his behalf. Maybe they’d even get one more drug pusher/pedophile off the streets. One more ghost from his past with less power. “Never thought this would happen,” he said, mostly to himself.
“That what would happen, honey?” Gloria asked.
“That I’d actually run into one of them. I mean, you’d think they’d flee the city or something once my mother was arrested. She flipped on some of them.”
“Some people genuinely believe they’ll never get caught,” Dr. Taggert said. “Hopefully, this man you saw tonight won’t be so lucky.”
“Yeah.”
A doctor finally came into the room, and Will’s world became a flurry of big words and an exam of his eyeballs and reflexes. No concussion from his fall. No residual effects from the panic attack. Nothing illegal in his system, thank you very much. Eventually he was sprung with a painkiller prescription for his head.
Dr. Taggert waited with him on the ER curb while Gloria went to get her car from the parking garage. “If you need to schedule another session this week,” he said, “please call my office.”
“Okay.” Will really didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
“You told Nathan you had a fight with a friend this evening.”
“Nathan?”
“Sorry, Detective Wolf.”
“Oh.” Duh. “Yeah, and?”
“Was your fight with Taz?”
Will grunted, unwilling to go there. All he wanted was his bed.
Thankfully, Dr. Taggert left it alone. Maybe he’d figured it out on his own. That poor, desperate Will had flung himself at Taz, only to be rejected because no one with any sense would want him. Not for anything except a hard fuck and a fast goodbye.
In some small way, Will had Taz to thank for him running into Bandanna in the first place. It took a tiny ounce of sting out of the rejection.
The house was quiet and dark when he and Gloria got home. She gave him one of the painkillers, then sent him upstairs to sleep. Will fell into bed, never more grateful to be in his shoe box of a bedroom. His phone beeped with a low battery, so he shut it off, no energy to feel around for the charger. He dreamed about Daffy’s, only every guy in the place was Taz, and he was laughing while Bandanna bent Will over the pool table. The painkiller kept him trapped there, in that nightmare, until a sharp knock on his door finally kicked him back into the real world.
“What?” he called out.
Jimmy Cole, the other social worker, poked his head inside. He was a skinny black guy with a head full of dreads and a soft Jamaican accent, and always a smile. Even this morning, he was smiling. “You got a visitor,” he said.
Will rubbed sleep from his eyes, not really in the mood. “Who?”
“A Detective Wolf. Don’t worry, Gloria filled me in about last night.”
Oh goody.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” Will said.
Jimmy left.
He didn’t give a shit that he was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, but he did have to pee, so he took a minute to brush his teeth, too. His reflection was pretty miserable. Dark shadows under his eyes, extra pale skin, super dry lips from that oxygen mask. Whatever.
Detective Wolf was waiting for him in the living room, and he’d brought someone else along. A woman that Will didn’t recognize. He heard activity in the kitchen, which was probably where Gloria and Jimmy were corralling the other residents. Giving him some privacy with all this.
“Good morning, Will,” Wolf said. “I’d ask if you slept okay, but I can guess the answer to that question.”
Will snorted. “I appreciate the gesture.” He slumped into an armchair.
Wolf and his companion sat on the couch opposite him. “This is Genevieve Stone,” Wolf said. “She’s a police sketch artist.”
“Oh great.” Will cut his eyes at Genevieve. “Sorry, it’s just, I’ve done this before. Kinda sucks.”
“I know it can be a tedious process,” she replied with a smile. “But sketches have helped us identify and capture a lot of perps.”
“I guess that means no one at the bar knew anything?” Will asked Wolf.
“We questioned the bartender who saw everything, as well as a few of the patrons still around,” Wolf replied. “No one knew the four men who were playing pool that night. However, our suspect did order a round of beers, and the bartender overheard one of his companions shout at him. Called him Christopher.”
His heart leaped. “A first name is a good start.”
“Yes, it is. And combined with a detailed sketch, it’s an even better step toward a full identification.”
“Okay, fine. Let’s do this.”
Genevieve produced a sketch pad and pencil, and they began. He went over every single detail he could remember, correcting a line or angle, until the face on the page began to better resemble the face from his nightmare—both the living and the dreaming nightmare. The only thing he couldn’t be sure of was his hair color, because of the stupid bandanna.
“Yeah,” Will said, after an interminable amount of time. “That’s him.”
“Happy.” Grunt. “Birthday.” Grunt. “To.” Grunt. “You.” Grunt.
His stomach rolled, and his fingers startled to twitch. The air got thicker, hotter.
I see the moon and the moon sees me. I see—Fuck it.
“Can we stop?” Will asked. He drew his knees up, planting his heels on the edge of the chair cushion. “Please, I can’t anymore.”
“Of course we can stop,” Wolf said. “Can I do anything for you, Will?”
“No.”
“All right. We’ll take this back to the station and get it out there. I’ve also copied the original officers on your case, who may end up taking over this investigation.”
Will shook his head hard. “Why?”
“Because your identification last night is linked to an ongoing investigation. As far as I’m aware, the case is still open in the narcotics division.”
“But I like you.”
Weak argument, and he hated that he’d even said it. But the detectives who’d initially questioned him—hours and hours of questions, first at the hospital, and then at Jennifer’s house—had been cold. They’d looked at him with pity, like he was some sort of broken toy, not a person. He hadn’t liked them at all.
Detective Wolf looked at him with kind, if intense, eyes. He saw him, and not his victimhood. And he smiled at Will’s compliment. “We’ll have to see how things shake out,” Wolf said. “But I promise you, I’ll do everything I can to find this Christopher character and bring him in.”
Will believed him. “Thank you. Fuck, I just want this to be over.”
Wolf stood, then tilted his head. “It was pretty ballsy of the guy to stay in town, considering what happened to some of his fellow...” He seemed to stumble over what to call the various men who’d haunted Will’s bedroom.
“You mean considering I identified and testified against three of those fucknuts?” Will said.
“Yes.”
“I guess some people are either too stupid to leave or too arrogant to hide.”
“Truer words, young man.” Wolf smiled once more, then led Genevieve out the front door.
Will was too tired to walk them out, so he stayed on the chair, knees up, staring blankly at the far wall. Aft
er a while, Gloria appeared in his line of sight.
“You doing okay?” she asked.
“No.”
“How about some breakfast?”
His instinct was to say no, he wanted to be left alone. Only refusing to eat was a red flag for him, because of his past issues with food. So he allowed himself to be led into the kitchen, where the rest of the residents were eating at the long table. He got looks, but no questions. They all had their own shit to deal with, and pestering was frowned upon by the folks in charge.
He ate his oatmeal without tasting it, took his meds, then went upstairs to sleep more.
Thankfully, if he dreamed, he didn’t remember.
Chapter Six
Taz was on his third can of cola and it was only just past noon, but he’d had a shitty night’s sleep, and he couldn’t concentrate on his transcription assignment at all. He’d already deleted the entire thing once, because he lost track when his mind wandered back to how he’d completely fucked up with Will yesterday.
Will had completely upended what Taz believed true about their relationship—a budding friendship that could be more, weeks down the road, because Will had to work on something very important with his shrink. Suddenly the sex ban was gone, and Will was eyeballing him like a Popsicle he wanted to lick, and part of Taz’s brain had stalled. Stalled and frozen, exactly like his body did during an episode.
He hadn’t been able to react to Will’s snarled accusations about Taz thinking he was a whore. It had horrified him when Will stormed out before Taz could deny it or even explain himself properly. And now Will was ignoring his calls and texts.
Taz glared at his computer. Will wasn’t even logged into the chat.
I have totally and completely fucked this up.
His phone chimed with his dad’s ringtone a few seconds before he knocked at the door. It was their signal, worked out so the knock didn’t startle Taz too badly, even if he was expecting him, like he was now. Peter had canceled their pizza and a movie the night before, because of some kind of work emergency, so they’d rescheduled it to a lunch date today.
At first, Taz had been upset about the change. He’d wanted to talk to someone about Will. But the longer he sat with his own thoughts, the more he was glad he’d been alone. It gave him a much clearer idea of what he wanted—and he wanted Will. Now he needed to find a way to get Will to forgive him.
Taz unlocked and opened the door to the tantalizing scent of a meat lover’s pizza. Peter Callahan grinned at him from the hallway. He’d started growing out a beard, which made him look like a redheaded lumberjack, because he had this weird thing for plaid shirts. Long sleeve, short sleeve, didn’t matter.
“Hey, there, kiddo,” Peter said with a grin that faded fast. “You look like hell. What’s going on? You getting sick?”
He let Peter inside, then turned the locks again. “Didn’t sleep well.”
Peter plunked the pizza box down on the coffee table, then turned to face him. “What’s going on? And don’t say nothing, because it’s all over your face.”
Taz hadn’t told his dad about Will in any specific way, only that he’d made a friend online, so he let the whole thing tumble out in one long tangle of words. From the intense chat room conversations to their first meeting. The attraction, the no-sex thing and then last night’s fuckery on his part. “He’s ignoring me, and I hate that,” he finished. “I just... I froze up and I couldn’t tell him I don’t think he’s a bad person because of all the awful shit in his past. I don’t judge him for any of it. How could I?”
Peter looked kind of stunned after the influx of word vomit, and maybe Taz could have laid it out more gently. Peter knew about Taz being bi, but Taz hadn’t been interested in anyone, male or female, since their relationship began, so it was probably going to take a little getting used to the “attracted to guys” side of being bisexual.
His shell-shocked expression smoothed out the longer he stood there, thinking. Sorting it all out like he did every problem Taz had ever laid at his feet. His dad had always given him great advice in the past. Hopefully today would be more of the same.
“So let me try to sum this up,” Peter finally said. “He does a 180 turn on you from the previous day regarding a physical relationship, and when you’re too surprised to react right away, he assumes the worst and storms out.”
“Kind of.”
“Are you sure you want to be with someone who acts that way?”
Taz had kind of glossed over what few details he knew about Will’s history, because that wasn’t his shit to spread around. “Will’s like me, Dad. He has PTSD, too, it’s why we understand each other so well. Usually. And I know why he stormed out. He needed me to reassure him right away, and I couldn’t, but that’s because of my issues. He’s not being a jerk. Not on purpose.”
“Except he kind of is, by withholding communication. If this kid—what was his name again?”
“Will. Will Madden.”
Peter frowned sharply, his eyebrows dipping. “Madden?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Nothing.” He waved a freckled hand in the air. “If Will truly wants to be with you, as a friend, or as something more, he needs to prove that. Running away during an argument doesn’t solve anything.”
“I know, but I get the feeling Will is used to being disappointed by people.” Taz’s stomach sloshed unhappily, no longer interested in the pizza. “I hate that I let him down. Or that he thinks I let him down. Whichever. I like being with him, and I want to be the guy he depends on.”
“But you don’t want to...have sex with him.”
Peter stumbled over the words a little, but Taz couldn’t fault him for that. Knowing your kid was bi and seeing it in action were two different things. “Not so soon. And it’s not even his issues as much as mine. I mean, the last thing I should be eating right now is pizza.”
Peter patted his own small gut. “Same here, but I’ve reached the age where I don’t care about love handles anymore.”
Taz grunted. “I’m not there yet. Plus, you know.” He waved a hand at his face.
“Does Will seem repelled by your scars?”
“No. He barely reacted to them at all.”
“And your...body?” Peter’s cheeks flushed, and yeah, the conversation was a little weird for Taz, too.
“He doesn’t seem to care that I don’t look like the guys cruising the bars, but I care. What if he only says he accepts me because he wants to have sex, and I’m a convenient, safe person to fuck around with? I know it’s not Will’s job to fix my self-esteem issues, but...fuck if I know what.”
“It still sounds as though this boy is far too quick to judge you, especially if he knows what you’ve been through.”
“I don’t want to lose him, Dad.” Taz didn’t call him that out loud very often, because he was still getting used to the idea of having a father. A father who doted as best he could, and who’d only ever been supportive. So why did it feel like Peter was trying to push Taz and Will apart?
“I’ve left two voice mails full of apologies and explanations,” Taz continued, “plus texted pleas to call me. Hell, I’d go to his house if I thought I could manage the walk without freezing up and getting creamed by a delivery van.”
“Where does he live?”
“Place called Carter House. I think it’s, like, six or seven blocks from here.” Which was still twice as far as the park had been, and that had taken Taz forever. He didn’t want to be a sweaty, freaked-out mess when he tried to speak to Will again. Maybe he could call a taxi, but the driver might still see his face. And maybe it wouldn’t be so hard if he didn’t have to walk the distance, but he’d still have to face the other people who lived there.
He’d have to let them see his scars.
I need to talk to Will so badly, t
o make sure we aren’t ruined. I don’t care if they stare at me. Fuck them all.
He also had a potential taxi driver standing in his living room. As much as he loathed asking his father for favors, especially after everything he’d already done for him, Taz found himself saying, “Will you drive me over there?”
Peter blinked. “What?”
“We can find directions to Carter House online. I need to talk to him. In person. Please?” Taz stared at his dad, an older, almost identical version of himself, silently begging him to say yes. Sure, Peter had driven him to places before—doctor’s appointments, mostly—but never for something this...personal.
The silence seemed to last forever, Peter’s face totally blank, before he finally said, “All right. If that’s really what you want.”
“Yeah? You’ll take me?”
“Yes, I will. Say what you need to say to him. I can wait in the car and drive you back when you’re done.”
An overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude squeezed Taz’s lungs, making it hard to breathe. “Thank you. You already do so much for me. This means a lot.”
“Of course.” Peter smiled, his eyes crinkling. “You’re my son. All I want is for you to be happy, and clearly you aren’t. If taking you to speak with Will helps in any way, I’ll do it.”
From the day they met in that faraway hospital, Taz had felt a familial kind of love toward his father, but today that love increased in an unexpected way. More than helping him find a job and an apartment, and more than being by his side through skin grafts and physical therapy, having Peter there to help him with a boy problem made his heart swell with more gratitude than it could hold.
He swallowed around the lump in his throat and said, “Thank you. Dad.”
* * *
Carter House surprised Taz by being, well, an actual house. He wasn’t sure why he expected the halfway house to look like a dorm or some other kind of official building. Nope, just a squat, two-story house with a narrow driveway and small porch, built close to the other neighboring houses on a tree-lined, cracked street.