by Pandora Pine
“Master of the fucking obvious, eh, Detective O’Mara?” The man kept his eyes on his mother. He was dressed in black jeans and a black tee-shirt. He wore a dark Carhartt jacket over it.
“Travis, why don’t we talk about this calmly and without the gun,” Tennyson suggested. He stood up and managed to move out from behind Ronan.
“My name isn’t Travis, you psychic freak!” The gun swung at Tennyson, but Travis’s hand was steady.
Tennyson’s hands came up slowly. “Okay, Shane, then. Why don’t you tell me your story?”
He shook the gun at Tennyson. “Don’t you know it already? You’re the psychic.”
Ten shrugged. “Yeah, I know your story, but I don’t need to use my gift to see you’ve been waiting a very long time for this moment, right? To share this story with your real mother? So, maybe you’ll put down the gun and tell her everything you’ve had to keep bottled up inside you all these years. Trust me, we’re all on the edge of our seat to hear every word.”
“The gun stays, asshole! I’m not stupid. There’s two cops and a P.I. in this room, plus you with your brain powers. I didn’t come this far only to get lit on fire by some damn mind freak.” Shane was obviously angry but seemed to be in complete control of his emotions.
“You’re thinking of a Stephen King novel, Shane. People can’t really set things on fire with their minds.”
Jude shot Tennyson an are-you-fucking-kidding-me look. Tennyson ignored him.
“Tell the story,” Tennyson urged. His voice was gentle and calm, with no hint that a semi-automatic weapon was aimed in his direction.
Ronan’s heart was in his chest. He could see a shaft of sunlight shining off the barrel of the gun that was pointed right at Tennyson. If Shane pulled the trigger, there was nothing he could do to save his husband. All he could do now was pray Bertha and Erin were here just in case things went bad.
Shane tilted his neck to the left, the joints cracked grotesquely. “According to the Boston City Hall Department of Public Records, I was born Travis Hutchins on May 1, 1986 to Jennifer Hutchins and Jake Sparks. I was the third of three brothers born that day. Thomas and Timothy Hutchins were born before me. Public records don’t say why what happened next happened, but on May 3, 1986, I was adopted by Betsy and Richard McNamara of Rochester, New Hampshire. The birth announcement in The Boston Globe said that Thomas and Timothy went home on May 4th. You care to fill in the details, Mommy?” Shane sneered.
Jennifer’s skin had gone so pale, she was practically transparent. Her mouth opened but no sound came out.
“Speak, woman!” Shane thundered. His arm holding the gun swung from Tennyson back to Jennifer.
Jennifer yelped and lost her balance, nearly falling out of her chair for the second time. Tim reached out a hand to steady his mother.
“Shane, I’m so sorry for what you went through, but it doesn’t have to be like this. Just put the gun down and we can talk,” Tim pleaded with his triplet.
“Fuck you!” Shane roared, the gun coming to rest on his triplet brother. “Look at you, Mr. All-American! Nice house, pretty wife, three kids. What the hell do you know about suffering? Huh?”
Tim’s mouth shut with an audible clack of his teeth.
“Jennifer,” Tennyson said gently. “Why don’t you fill in the blanks for Shane?”
Ronan couldn’t help thinking this would be the voice Tennyson would use with their little miss when she was refusing to eat her broccoli or go to sleep. He whispered a silent prayer that he would get to hear Tennyson negotiate terms with their daughter-to-be.
Clearing her throat, Jennifer sat up a bit straighter in her seat. “I was nineteen years old when Jake knocked me up.”
“Oh, cry me a friggen river!” Shane rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
“Shane, you wanted answers and she’s giving them to you. Let’s hear her out, hmm?” Ten’s voice was soothing and suggestive, as if he were interested in hearing the story too.
Shane huffed a rough breath but didn’t contradict Tennyson.
“I was working as a cashier at Star Market and Jake was a mechanic. We didn’t have a lot of money and no health insurance. I had one ultrasound and the doctor told me it was twins.” Tears were shining in Jennifer’s eyes. “Jake was pissed. He didn’t want one baby, forget two. He was on the verge of walking out then, but we got an apartment in Roslindale near his job and we made it work.”
“The perfect picture of domestic bliss.” Shane’s lips curled into a cruel snarl.
“No.” Jennifer shook her head. “Jake was a drunk. He knocked me around when he’d had a few. That was what sent me into labor. They wouldn’t allow him into the delivery room because he was so wasted. I ended up having to deliver you boys alone. Worst pain of my life.” She shrugged. “I thought I was done after Tim was born, but then the doctor said there was a third baby. I thought he was joking, but a few minutes later…” Jennifer trailed off.
“A few minutes later what?” Shane thundered. He stalked to the table, yanking Jennifer out of her seat by her arm. “What?”
She shrieked. “Don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me.” Jennifer was trying to pull away from her enraged son, but Shane kept yanking her back against him.
“Tell me what happened, Mom!” Spittle flew from his lips to land on her face.
“He was little. The third baby was so little. It was like the other two ganged up on him and all he got were the scraps.”
“He? Don’t you mean me?” Shane screamed in her face.
Jennifer nodded.
“Why did you give me up?” Shane gave her arm a shake.
“When Jake sobered up he was allowed in the room to see me. He was pissed that there were three babies. Told me I had a decision to make. That I could have him and two babies, because that was the original deal, or I could have three babies without him.” Tears spilled down Jennifer’s face.
Ronan felt rooted to the floor. What a terrible position to have been put in. He would never have chosen another man over his own flesh and blood, not even Tennyson. He slid his eyes over to Fitzgibbon who was staring at him. The look in his eyes was asking what in hell took so long for Ronan to glance his way.
Fitzgibbon threw his eyes toward Shane, indicating that he planned to inch toward the crazed man.
Ronan knew it was a bad idea. They were both armed, but neither had body armor, nor did the five other adults in the house with them. He took a slow, sliding step forward, managing to get in front of Tennyson again. He shot his husband a look telling him to stay there. Not that Tennyson was going to pay attention to that. Ronan knew he would do anything, including throwing himself in the line of fire, to keep Jennifer safe.
“Gee, let me guess which option you picked! You selfish bitch!” He shoved Jennifer hard, sending her sailing across the kitchen. She crashed into the refrigerator with thump and a rattle of glass bottles.
“I should have kept you!” Jennifer wailed, holding her grossly twisted left wrist close to her chest. “He left after two weeks anyway. I thought we’d have a better shot to make it as a family with two paychecks, but he couldn’t stand all the crying.”
“How did you decide, Mom? Was it eenie meenie miney mo? Did you pick the baby who came out last? The one with the least amount of hair? How did you choose who to keep and who to throw away? Why was it me?” Shane raged. The gun was pointed at Jennifer’s head.
“Y-You were the smallest. The runt of the litter, Jake said. He didn’t want such a scrawny baby.” Jennifer gasped, seeming to realize her mistake instantly. “Sh-Shane, I-I didn’t feel that way. Jake did.”
Shane roared. It sounded primal, like he was letting all of the hurt inside of him escape. He took a step toward his mother when Tennyson spoke.
“Shane, what about your adoptive family?” Ten had taken another step forward and was now in front of Ronan again.
The crazed man stopped dead in his tracks. “My adoptive family?” Shane blinked a few times as if he re
alized he needed to get himself back under control. “My mother was a saint. An angel on earth. All she ever wanted was a child. I was her dream come true.” Shane’s gruff voice sounded almost tender.
“What happened to her?” Ten asked gently.
“You fucking know what happened, asshole! Say it! Say what happened!” Shane’s voice broke with the emotion.
Ten sighed. It was filled with profound sadness. “Ovarian cancer when you were seven. The diagnosis came too late. She died holding you in her arms.”
“What about your adoptive father?” Ronan asked, needing to get the attention off Tennyson. He knew Shane could snap at any second and just start firing.
“Dick McNamara lived up to his name. My mother was all he had. Once the dirt was shoveled over her grave, he took his grief out on me. Started beating me. Starving me. Used to punish me by making me kneel on rice. I’m scarred for life.”
Tennyson shivered. “You killed him…”
“God damned fucking right I did! Fucker had a bad heart. I sped things along with rat poison in his food. I stood over him while he died calling him every name in the book and telling him how I was the one responsible for that moment. The last words he heard were how much I fucking hated him.” Shane McNamara smiled. It was full of sharp teeth and venom. “While I was doing CPR on his corpse and waiting for the EMTs to come save my dearly departed Daddy, I decided my next move would be to find you next, Mom.”
Ten gasped so hard he nearly doubled over.
Shane laughed. He swung the gun toward Tennyson. “Finally figured it out, psychic?”
Ten nodded. He struggled to take a deep breath. “Revenge,” he wheezed.
“God damned right. At long fucking last. Say goodbye, bitch!” Shane turned toward Jennifer, raised the gun, and fired.
40
Tennyson
Tennyson’s ears were ringing. Ronan was shouting something at him but he couldn’t hear the words. Whatever it was Ronan was saying must have been pretty important because he kept repeating them over and over. The next thing he knew, Ronan was pulling his hands away from his ears.
“Get down!” Jude shouted. He was running toward where Shane was standing over Jennifer’s prone body.
Tennyson could see what was going to happen next in his mind. He tried to shout a warning but it was too late. There was nothing he could do to stop what was coming.
Shane spun around at the sound of Jude’s voice. He raised the gun and fired again, hitting Jude in the shoulder. The slug didn’t slow Jude down. On the contrary, it only enraged him further. Letting out a feral yell, the P.I. hurled himself at Shane, knocking them both into the kitchen counter near the sink.
Jude had grabbed for Shane’s gun and now the two men were battling over it.
Grabbing Ronan’s arm, Tennyson tried to yank his husband to the floor, but Ronan wasn’t budging. Out of the corner of his eye, Ten caught the movement of Tim grabbing Michelle’s hand and pulling her toward the back door. He could only hope they would call 911 once they got to safety.
“Jude get down!” Fitzgibbon ordered, sounding every bit the police captain he was. Kevin had his weapon drawn and had it pointed at Shane. His finger was on the trigger.
Jude kicked out at Shane’s left knee and that sent them both sprawling to the kitchen floor. Both men were scrabbling, trying to get the upper hand, when the gun fired again.
“Jude!” Ten shouted, pulling away from Ronan and running to his friend’s side. “Kevin, call 911, now!” Ten fell to the floor and managed to roll Jude over. His left thigh was covered in blood.
Shane was struggling to get up. “That’s two of you. You’re next, psychic.” He tried to pull his arm out from under Jude’s body.
“Fuck you, asshole!” Ten punched Shane in face, knocking the man unconscious. He got up on his knees to pull his belt off.
“Jesus Christ, Ten.” Ronan slid onto the floor next to him. “Where the hell’d you learn to do that?”
“From you, Rambo! You want to help me with this tourniquet, so Jude doesn’t bleed to death in this hellhole?”
“Uh, can you save me first and fight later?” Jude’s voice was weak.
Wrapping the belt under Jude’s leg, Ten secured it above the bullet wound and threaded it through the buckle.
“Pull harder, babe,” Ronan advised.
“Do you mind not flirting. Christ, I’m fucking bleeding to death here!” Jude moaned.
“Harder, Ten. Let’s not make genius dick’s prophecy reality, huh?”
“He’d be the one haunting me, not you.” Ten pulled the end of the belt with all his strength.
“Jesus! Fuck! Ouch!”
“Here, let me lock it in.” Ronan slid the prong into belt hole.
“Let’s move Jude so I can cuff Shane. The last thing we need is this fucker waking up free,” Fitzgibbon said.
“I’ll grab his good leg. You take his shoulder,” Ronan directed.
“There’s a bullet in that shoulder, asshole,” Jude hissed.
“At least I didn’t drop you.” Fitzgibbon grinned. He reached over Tennyson and Ronan for a paper towel, which he used to grab Shane’s gun. He moved it to the dining room table before cuffing the still unconscious man. Sirens wailed in the distance.
Ronan went to check on Jennifer, while Fitzgibbon stayed with Shane. “She’s still breathing,” Ronan announced.
“She’ll be fine,” Tennyson said. “Long road to recovery with a lot of therapy, but she’ll be okay.”
“You fucking knew I was gonna get shot, didn’t you?” Jude half-growled.
Ten shrugged.
“You’ve got two bullets in you and you’re bleeding all over the place. How is it possible you sound stronger now than you did ten minutes ago?” Ronan looked shocked.
“I’ve always been a quick healer.” Jude managed to smile.
“Quick healer? We’re talking about hunks of lead penetrating your body, not scabbed knees from falling off your bike.”
Jude ignored Ronan. “Why didn’t you tell me, you son-of-a-bitch?” he demanded.
“Watch your tone unless you want a third bullet to join the other two.” Ronan growled good-naturedly.
Ten set a hand on Jude’s good shoulder. “You changed history when you made your move, Jude. I saw it play out after you shouted for us to get down. There was no time to warn you. History changed like this.” He snapped his fingers.
“I changed history? What was supposed to happen?” Jude’s eyes narrowed. “Was I going to get shot anyway? Did I die?”
Ten was about to tell him Ronan was going to get shot again when the BPD burst through the door. “Later.” Ten patted Jude’s good shoulder.
The EMTs charged in after the police cleared the scene. They started tending to Jude and Jennifer.
“Come with me, Nostradamus.” Ronan pulled Tennyson toward the front door and then outside.
The cold November wind bit into his skin. The chill was soon gone when Ronan wrapped him in his arms. “You okay?”
Ten nodded against his shoulder. “I am now.”
“I was gonna get shot again, wasn’t I? That’s why you kept edging in front of me.” Ronan’s voice was tight with emotion.
Ten whimpered against Ronan’s neck and held on to his husband tighter.
Ronan pulled back and looked into Tennyson’s misty dark eyes. “Are you kidding me? Byrne save me? I hate that asshole!”
“No, you don’t, Ronan. It’s a funny schtick, but you don’t hate him. How could you? You’re the same person.”
Ronan’s upper lip curled into a snarl. “Now that’s just plain mean.”
“It’s true. Carson said you’re destined to be besties.” Ten kissed him hard.
“Don’t count on it. I have plenty of besties. I don’t need any more. Especially not rude, heroic, bastards who heal like Deadpool.”
“That’s the grumpy cat I know and love.” Ten patted his cheek.
“How did I know you’d be in
volved in this somewhere O’Mara?” a handsome patrolman asked.
“You must be psychic, Owens.” Ronan rolled his eyes.
“Fitz is in there giving his statement to my captain. He’s so detailed that we’ll be here for an hour.”
“Add an ‘s’ to that, man. Grab coffee and a sandwich. It’s gonna be a long ass day for you.”
“Ronan.” Ten gave his husband’s arm a tug as the EMTs carried a stretcher out of the Hutchins’ house. It was shrouded in a sheet. They set it down on the sidewalk.
“We’re sorry, Ronan,” the ginger medic said. “We did everything we could. There was just too much blood loss.”
Ronan’s face was a mask of shock as he pulled back the sheet. The body on the stretcher was Jude Byrne. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “I never got to tell him he really wasn’t a dick, that he was a good man. My friend.”
“Gotcha, asshole!” Jude’s golden eyes popped open.
The EMTs burst out laughing.
“You dirty bastard!” Ronan threw the sheet back down over Jude’s face. “Did you know about this?” He asked Tennyson.
Of course, Tennyson knew about this. He was psychic and he’d seen the rise and fall of the sheet as Jude breathed. “No, Ronan,” he lied through his teeth. “I was just as surprised as you were!” He crossed his fingers behind his back. The lie didn’t count if you crossed your fingers. At least that was the rule on the playground back in Kansas.
“Okay, we’ve got to get him to the hospital. Beth Israel, Tennyson. You coming with us, detective?”
An evil grin spread across Ronan’s face. “Yeah, you can revive him after I kill him.” Ronan dug into his back pocket and pulled out the keys to the Mustang. He tossed them to Tennyson, who in his shock, nearly dropped them on the ground. “Don’t crash her, babe. I’ll see you later.” He smacked a kiss to Ten’s cheek and hopped into the back of the ambulance.
Tennyson watched as the ambulance pulled out into the street with the lights flashing and sirens wailing. He shut his eyes, saying a silent prayer thanking God for not taking his husband from him today.