Walk a Mile

by Sarah Madison

  Jerry tried to pin down the origin of that thought but it was no good. He couldn’t even tell if the person behind that thought was threatened by him working for the FBI or turned on by it. It felt like a little of both. The rest of the thoughts in the room whirled and spun around his head.

  I don’t know why I came here tonight. What was I expecting? Jeez, the service here is slow. At least the pitcher is full. I’d fuck him. I’d fuck him so hard he couldn’t walk. God, I think I’m gonna puke. Please don’t let me puke. Jerry? Oh. Em. Gee. That’s him! I swear, that’s him! Jerry, are you okay? A total failure, that’s me. Look at them. Every single one of them has done something with their lives. What have I got to show for it? Fuck ’em. Fuck ’em all. Christ, I need a cigarette. What’s the world coming to when you can’t smoke in a fucking bar anymore? This sandwich is so greasy, I think I’ll send it back. The way those two look at each other. Are they…? No. But that would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?

  He doesn’t know, does he? No, he can’t know.

  Jerry stood up slowly, fingers splayed on the table for balance as the room swum.

  “You okay?” Rick looked concerned.

  “Yeah.” Jerry gave him a weak smile. “Bit of a headache, and it’s gotten hot in here. Where’s the john?” He looked in the direction Carlene had taken earlier and hoped the locations of the restrooms weren’t something Flynn should obviously have known. How much had Flynn hung out here in college, anyway?

  “Over there. We need to remodel, but one thing at a time. The place is a bit of a maze, but if you go around that corner, you’ll see a sign pointing to them.”

  Jerry nodded to everyone at the table. “I’ll be back.”

  He heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and knew Flynn was following him as he weaved his way through the crowd.

  “Hey.” Flynn caught up with him once they were around the corner. “You okay? You look like crap.”

  “Lost control for a moment there.” Jerry didn’t have to say anything else. Flynn knew what it was like. The sympathy on his face faded, however, when Jerry continued. “Did you have to be such an asshole? I mean, really, thanks for making me look like a jerk. Yeah, I know I’ll probably never see your friends again, but still.”

  Flynn opened and closed his mouth like a guppy. As time ticked past and Flynn said nothing, Jerry waved a hand at him in disgust and headed for the restroom. The door to the men’s room was locked, so he had to wait. The bar was old. Jerry bet that the area had become more popular over time. He’d have to close for a few weeks, but Rick should do that remodeling.

  Flynn joined him in the narrow corridor. “Look, I’m sorry about that. Really. It’s just that all of a sudden, I remembered every nasty, cutting thing Carlene had ever said to Tom and how she’d treated him all these years. And I just couldn’t help it—it came out.”

  “Well, thanks. Your friends are unnerved by me now.” Jerry thought about the look on Carlene’s face when she’d thought he was reading her mind. “Okay, they’re a little freaked out about both of us. The FBI thing has them a little rattled.”

  “Is that why you dropped your guard?” Flynn held his gaze with an intensity Jerry didn’t know his face could possess. “You were handling things pretty well until a moment ago.”

  He delayed answering by pulling off his jacket and handing it to Flynn. “Take that for me, will you? I’m dying here, it’s so hot. Yes, I tried pinning down someone’s thoughts, and I couldn’t control it.” He sensed his hair was standing up in startled spikes, and he attempted to smooth it.

  “You’re only making it worse.” Amusement softened Flynn’s expression briefly. “Did you pick up on anything important?”

  “I’m not sure. I kept getting the feeling someone recognized me. I mean you. I mean me as you. You know what I mean. Crap. So anyway, I couldn’t tell if it was a good or a bad thing.” Jerry rubbed his forehead. “I thought this telepathy thing was more clear-cut than it really is. That you just looked at someone and knew what they were thinking. I don’t know how you manage to focus on any conversation at all, let alone a particular thought. It’s like a bunch of starlings screeching at once.”

  What came back to him from Flynn was a mishmash of emotions: a flare of resentment that Jerry had somehow thought being a telepath was easy, acknowledgment they were both getting a good idea of what it was like to walk a mile in each other’s shoes, and determination that showing concern for Jerry’s well-being didn’t mean he was done being mad at him. Or that things were going back to the way they’d been before, just like that.

  How was it that people were so complicated?

  The bathroom door opened and the occupant came out. Jerry and Flynn flattened themselves against the wall to let the man pass, the light from the bathroom illuminating the dark hallway.

  “I’m sure someone here probably did recognize me. We used to come here a lot when we were in college before everyone scattered. It’s no big deal.” Don’t give yourself an aneurysm trying to figure it out.

  Jerry snorted at the words Flynn didn’t say, and stepped into the restroom. “I’m fine,” he said, quoting the Flynn Mantra as he shut the door.

  Inside the small, overly bright room, he looked at his reflection in the mirror, shocked once again to see Flynn’s face and not his own. He hoped he never got used to that, because the day he did that would mean they’d been switched for far too long. He had to laugh at the way his hair stuck up after taking off his jacket. He looked like an angry hedgehog. Running the cold tap, he splashed water onto his face and dried it with a paper towel. With dampened hands he did the best he could with Flynn’s recalcitrant hair and left it at that. Taking a deep breath, he thought maybe he was ready to face the table again.

  When he opened the door, he was face-to-face with Paul.

  “Oh! Sorry.” He gave a little laugh. It trailed off at the look on Paul’s face and the thoughts that boiled underneath the surface. It wasn’t just that Paul was drunk. Something dark and festering threatened to erupt.

  Well, well. So the pretty boy turned out to be a fucking faggot after all. I should have known. Isn’t that always the case? You can just look at them and tell.

  “I see your boyfriend brought your jacket back to the table.” He shoved Jerry backward into the restroom. So you like dick, do you? I’ll give you some dick. When I’m done with you, you’ll never want another man’s cock up your ass again.

  With the deliberation of a tiger bearing down on a tethered goat, Paul pulled the door shut behind him. Jerry heard the click of the lock as he depressed the button on the handle.

  “You’re making a mistake.” Flynn’s voice came out of Jerry’s mouth, flat and cold. Anyone with half a brain would know they were treading on thin ice, but in a flash, Jerry saw that Paul was used to dealing with teenage boys, where he was always bigger and stronger, the one coming from a place of authority, the one everyone wanted to please. He was Coach.

  “No, you made the mistake. Choosing Mr. Prissy Pants there when you used to have a woman like Nancy.” Paul filled the doorway, blocking the only exit. He was gloating, basking in the delight of a prey cornered, his cock an enormous outline pressing against the seam of his jeans.

  Prissy Pants? Jerry was outraged, but the personal insult paled compared to the images he saw streaming through Paul’s mind. Scenes in the locker room, in the showers. Coach handing out his particular form of discipline with the affected students too frightened of losing their place on the team and all their friends if they told anyone.

  It blinded him for a moment. He could do nothing more than look on in horror as Paul’s memory of slamming a young boy against the lockers filled his mind. He could hear Paul, yelling at the kid, “Are you a fag?”

  Close behind that was the certain knowledge that Paul was deeply repressed about his feelings toward men in general, and Flynn in particular. Paul’s pointed interest in ‘Flynn’ this evening took on a different meaning, and Jerry drew back in respo
nse.

  Instantly, he realized Paul had misinterpreted his reaction for fear. Curling his upper lip, without taking his eyes off Jerry, he began undoing his belt. “When I’m done with you, I think I’ll pay Nancy a little visit tonight. Show her what a real man’s dick feels like.”

  That’s all Jerry needed to hear. Paul had declared himself, now Jerry could act. Moving with years of training and Flynn’s uncanny reflexes, Jerry slammed him up against the bathroom door while he still had his hands on his belt. Paul hit the paneling with a grunt, his thick fists coming up swinging.

  Jerry blocked him easily. He delivered a punch to Paul’s gut, causing him to double over with a whoop of escaping air. Jerry followed through with an uppercut to the jaw, smashing Paul against the door once more. A loud, startling crack came from the middle of Jerry’s back as he delivered the blow, and something inside his spine was suddenly more mobile. Adrenaline and a nameless glee surged through Jerry, making him feel as though his heart had grown three sizes. As Paul still gasped for air, Jerry spun him around and rammed him forward onto the sink, pinning one arm behind his back.

  “Let’s get a few things straight.” Jerry spoke into Paul’s ear, ignoring the gurgling sounds beneath him. “One: congratulations, you’re now under investigation for child molestation and rape. Two: I’ve killed worse than you before breakfast, so don’t fuck with me. Three: if you so much as breathe on Nancy, I will personally twist your balls off with my bare hands.”

  He pushed Paul’s forearm up his back so far, he wrenched a fresh gasp from him and felt the grind of bone and tissue as the shoulder joint threatened to dislocate. Grabbing Paul by his collar with his other hand, Jerry jerked him away from the sink, thrusting him violently to the floor. Paul landed in a heap, his breath coming back to him as a sob, hand shaking as he tucked his injured arm into his chest.

  Hate blazed out of his eyes when he lifted his head, but there was fear there as well.

  I’m not finished with you, you bastard.

  Jerry took great delight in leaning forward, watching Paul shrink back from him. “Yes, yes, you are. You’re finished.”

  He had the satisfaction of seeing Paul’s eyes widen with shock before he stormed out of the bathroom.

  Chapter 13

  THEY WERE laughing as he returned to the table. Laughing in that helpless, red-faced way, the kind of laugher that made you wipe tears from your face in hysterical glee. Normally, it would have been contagious. He’d have wanted to know what the joke was, particularly when he saw they were crowded around watching something on Nancy’s phone. Flynn had that particular red-faced embarrassment that didn’t go with the amusement of the others. It didn’t matter. Jerry felt the freedom of movement within him, and he approached the table with the confidence of a wolf fresh from the hunt, nostrils flaring as he rode out the adrenaline high.

  “Quick, hide it!” Becky said as he got within earshot.

  “No, I think he needs to see it.” Smugness oozed out of Carlene’s very pores. Ah, it was a joke at his expense.

  “See what?” He held out his hand for the phone. Smothering a laugh, Nancy placed it in his palm and tapped the button over the video.

  “Congratulations,” Carlene said, not hiding her delight at potential discomfiture. “You’re an Internet sensation.”

  “I’m a what?” He looked blankly at the screen, where a video titled “Hot Guy Can’t Sing” was starting to play. It was him, all right, or rather, him as Flynn. Taken at the gas station earlier that afternoon, the video displayed his impromptu song and dance act as he’d pumped gas. Because he was wearing headphones, no one else could hear the music, and he winced as he heard Flynn’s drawling flat vowels coming out of his mouth. Jerry had a decent tenor; he played the piano and had sung in the choir all through high school. He’d even been selected for the All Regional Chorus and had starred in the annual school musicals.

  Flynn, apparently, was a better keyboardist than singer. Jerry winced as he watched himself nod his head in rhythm to the beat of “Poker Face.” Even the song’s minimalist melody couldn’t be rescued from Flynn’s atonicity.

  “Thirty seven thousand hits so far, and it’s only been up a couple of hours.” Becky’s giggle sawed on his nerves.

  Great. Well, that answered the question of the feeling that someone recognized him. Hell, half the bar was probably laughing at him now.

  “Damn it, I never saw anyone filming me. How’d you guys come across it?”

  Crap. He hoped he wouldn’t get Flynn in trouble at work over this. FBI agents weren’t supposed to be the stars of videos gone viral on the Internet. On screen, he continued to bob his head and shimmy his hips to the song. Oh well, at least he could dance, even if Flynn’s singing voice was atrocious.

  “Apparently it was pulled from the camera over the pumps. One of those girls showed it to us when you went to the restroom.” Tom indicated a trio of young women at a table in the corner, the ones that had been watching him earlier. As Jerry made eye contact with them, they began mouthing the refrain from the song, which was largely a stuttering of the letter p. They were chair dancing, arms raised, bopping their bodies to the rhythm of their singing. They burst into gales of laughter when he ducked his face into his palm.

  “Mum-mum-mum mah,” Becky sang. Her eyes were bright with laughter.

  Jerry had to stifle a laugh himself. The whole thing was too ridiculous. The body-swap, the fight with Flynn, pretending to be Flynn, the attempt to steal the artifact, the fight with Paul in the bathroom, and now this. However, tempting as it was to hee-haw with laughter, Paul was very likely to return any minute now, and Jerry wanted to be gone before that happened.

  “Sorry to break up the party, guys, but I’ve got to go.” He handed Nancy her phone.

  Her fingers lingered against his palm as she took her cell. “It’s not because of this, is it?” She indicated the phone, dismay plainly stamped on her features.

  “What’s the matter, John? Can’t take a little hit to your pride?” Carlene lifted her head challengingly.

  Jerry shook his head with a rueful smile. “I wish it was that simple. No, sorry, it’s work-related.”

  Flynn stood and handed Jerry his jacket.

  “Oh, pooh. At least tell us you’re coming to the reunion later tonight.” Becky pouted charmingly, and Jerry wished these were his friends and he was going to see them later.

  “No promises,” he said with real regret.

  “Here, let me contribute to the bill.” Flynn pulled out Jerry’s wallet and began peeling off bills.

  “No, let me,” Jerry said, pulling Flynn’s wallet out from his pocket in a smooth move. “After all, they’re my friends.”

  “No, no,” Rick said suddenly, holding a hand across the table to block Flynn from leaving money on it. “This one’s on me, boss’s privilege.”

  “Are you sure? Because I’m happy to pay for it.” Flynn held up several twenty-dollar bills that didn’t belong to him, the rat-bastard. “Call it the ‘jackass’ fee.”

  And there it was, Flynn’s utterly charming “yes, I know you want to fuck me” smile, served up with Jerry’s little crooked lift at the corner of his mouth. Hell, Jerry wanted to fuck him right now. As soon as he got his wallet back.

  “No, really, I’ve got it.” Rick smiled, his first real smile of the evening. Not a bad-looking guy. Maybe if he’d just stop comparing his life to everyone else’s, he’d realize it wasn’t so terrible.

  “Thanks, Rick, that’s good of you.” Leave it to Nancy to say the right thing.

  Rick flushed and ducked his head. “Least I can do.” He mumbled his words and Jerry wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him. He was a successful business owner. Why the hell should he feel shame about his career choices?

  Nancy stood up, too. “We’re going to see you again before you go back to California, right?”

  Jerry shrugged helplessly. “It depends on work.”

  His face flushed with heat whe
n Nancy leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. “If you can’t make it to the reunion, at least agree to meet us for breakfast tomorrow morning.” She paused, suddenly sliding her gaze sideways to take in Flynn. “You too, Agent Parker.”

  “Please, call me Jerry.” Flynn’s drawl was so Flynn-like Jerry wasn’t surprised at Nancy’s brief double take.

  “Yes, say you’ll do breakfast. We’ll go to some obscene place where we can gorge ourselves silly on pancakes and french toast.” Becky seemed on board with the idea.

  “Maybe. I’ll call you.” He directed his last sentence toward Nancy before turning to the group again. “Good night, everyone. Glad to see you again.”

  “Oh.” Becky gestured in the direction of the restroom. “Don’t you want to wait for Paul?”

  “I really can’t. Come on, Parker, we need to go.”

  He pushed his way across the crowded floor, relieved when they burst through the doors onto the street. There were pedestrians passing by, but their thoughts were ephemeral—there and gone with the movement. Nothing like the crush of thoughts that had surrounded him in the bar.

  Dizziness overtook him, and he bent over, hands on knees, to clear his head. His breath came out in a vapor in the damp air.

  “You okay?” Flynn sounded almost normal. Like he cared. Like everything was okay between them and this was him showing concern.

  Jerry breathed in deeply, clear air filling his chest with the effort. The adrenaline from the fight was wearing off now, and he was starting to feel shaky from the plummet in blood sugar. He was going to need to eat soon, damn it. A big juicy cheeseburger would hit the spot right now. Funny how the only thing he wanted was the kind of food he normally detested. “Your friend, Paul, assaulted me in the bathroom.”

  “He did what?” Outrage and incredulity warred for the highest pitch; Jerry heard his voice coming out of Flynn’s mouth and winced. Dogs in the next county were probably howling.