by Ren Hamilton
Donnelly’s lips pursed tight. He was clearly furious, but keeping it in check for the time, relishing the moment when he could drop the hammer.
“Are you planning to fire me?”
“I’m offering you the opportunity to explain yourself, Patrick. It ought to prove most entertaining, I suspect.”
“Mr. Donnelly, frankly I’d appreciate it if you’d just get to the point.”
Donnelly paused, then he slammed a fist down on the desk. “The point? You want me to get to the point? How about the clients calling all morning to say they’re taking their business elsewhere? How about the press calling looking for information about Joey? The press! Your little stunt has ruined the reputation of this organization! That is the point, Mr. Obrien.”
“Am I fired?”
Donnelly leaned forward, purple faced. “Of course you’re fired you fucking moron!”
Patrick stood. “I’ll go clean out my office.”
He tore through his office in a rage, tossing personal items into a cardboard box. The photographs of his friends went directly into the trashcan. Calvin White stepped in just as he was ceremoniously smashing the picture from the hiking trip. He looked up, surprised to see Calvin. The rest of his co-workers were avoiding him, as though unemployment was a contagious disease.
“Obrien?” Calvin hesitated, like he thought Patrick was going to throw something at him.
“Oh, hey Calvin.”
Calvin stepped inside. “I heard what happened. I came to see if you needed any help.”
There was genuine concern in the programmer’s eyes, and Patrick was quietly grateful. “I don’t have that much stuff, but thanks anyway Cal.”
Calvin walked over to the desk. “Is Joey all right?”
Patrick laughed, and it sounded maniacal, even to him. “Oh, Joey’s just fine. Joey is always fine. It’s the rest of us that are out of step, right?”
Calvin studied Patrick with a furrowed brow. “What about you?”
After all he’d endured, Calvin’s concern warmed him almost to tears. “I’ll be okay, Cal. Eventually. Thanks for asking.”
Calvin grabbed another box and helped him pack. Patrick found it comforting, simply to have another heartbeat nearby. When the office was cleared, they each took a box and headed toward the stairway that led to the outer parking lot. Patrick had left his car at the Parker building earlier in the week. He was thankful for it now. It would have been humiliating to walk to the train stop with a box full of office supplies. He may as well have worn a big sign that read I JUST GOT CANNED.
Co-workers they passed in the hall pretended that Patrick was invisible. People he’d worked with for five years avoided his eyes. “Is your car here?” Calvin asked as they reached the exit.
“I’m parked out in the back lot. I can take it from here. Thanks, Cal.”
“Shut up, Obrien. I’m walking you to your car. I’m not one of those assholes we passed in the hall. I’m a friend.”
Tears threatened, and Patrick bit his lip. “Thanks Cal.”
“And stop thanking me. You’d do the same for me. Now let’s just get you the hell out of here.”
They walked side by side to the back lot, and were halfway to Patrick’s car when Calvin held an arm out, stopping him. “Hold on, Obrien.” Calvin frowned and pointed to Patrick’s Honda parked six rows up. News reporters huddled around it like flies swarming a piece of fruit. Patrick thought he would finally cry then, but Calvin grabbed his elbow and tugged him to the side. “Come on. My car’s parked over there. I’ll give you a ride home.”
Patrick climbed into the front seat. “I have to say it again. Thank you, Calvin. You didn’t have to do this.”
Calvin grinned, exposing his extra large teeth. “Actually, I have an ulterior motive. Can I have your autograph? Sign my newspaper?”
Patrick laughed at the joke and Calvin laughed with him. He found that he couldn’t stop laughing, but he didn’t care. They laughed for a good five minutes and it was a welcome release.
After that they drove in silence, until just before reaching Patrick’s apartment building. “Shit,” Calvin cursed. “Looks like we’ve got more trouble.”
Five or six stragglers from the press were camped out front with cameras. “You gotta be kidding me. Calvin, don’t stop. Keep driving!” Calvin gunned it and they sped by the apartment house. “Damn it!” Patrick shouted, his voice cracking. “Damn them both! Fucking lunatics have ruined my life.” He dropped his face in his hands and wept, unable to help himself. “Supposed to be my best friends. What a fucking joke.” His breath hitched as the tears spilled. “But they’re both rich, what the fuck do they care? Fuck!”
Calvin let him cry without judgment. When he’d calmed, Calvin put a hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me, Obrien. It doesn’t seem like it now, but this too shall pass. I don’t know exactly what Joey and Shep did to you, but I do know this. The press gets tired of a story if nobody talks to them. This will blow over. I give it two days at the most. Remember that wood stain on the church door that was supposedly in the shape of the Virgin Mary? It even slipped into the national news. But it only lasted a couple days. No one wants religious stories shoved down their throat. It’ll die out.”
Patrick wiped his eyes. “This wasn’t a wood stain. It was a holographic image designed by special effects professionals. People are claiming to have been healed by the fucking thing.”
“I’d say you could tell the press just that, but you’d be acknowledging that you knew about it beforehand, and no one would believe you weren’t involved. You weren’t, were you?”
“No. I knew they wanted to do it, but I opted out. They tricked me.”
“Then I’d say keep quiet. If you talk, it will probably keep the story going, and keep your handsome mug in the news.”
Feeling sick at the thought, he shook his head. “No. I’m not talking to anyone. I just want it to go away.”
“Is there somewhere you can stay until this blows over? I’d offer you my couch but my roommates would freak. But I suggest someone besides family members. The press might have their addresses too.”
“Oh God,” Patrick said. “I feel sick. My parents are super Catholic. My mom’s going to freak.”
“Calm down,” Cal said. “It doesn’t seem like it to you I’m sure, but this is a small story. A small human interest piece in a local paper, a blip. Most people probably didn’t even see it. No one reads newspapers anymore.”
“My parents do. And my boss sure fucking saw it.”
Cal gave him a sympathetic smile. “Anywhere else you can stay for a few days?”
Patrick rolled down the window, letting the spring air dry his tears. He thought for a moment, then pulled out his phone.
* * * *
Kelinda agreed to let him crash on her couch for the night. What else could she do? Patrick didn’t want to seem callous, but she kind of owed him her support. She was part of this whole thing, whether she claimed to regret it or not.
Calvin dropped him in front of Kelinda’s house, making him promise to call if he needed anything. Patrick thanked him again, grabbed his boxes and sprinted to the door. No one was hiding in the shrubs to ambush him. He was safe for the time being.
When he got inside, he listened to the many voicemails on his phone. There were several from local news mediums requesting interviews. Then came his mother’s voice, frantic and demanding to know what happened. Great. Just what he needed, another reason for his parents to think him a Godless heathen. They were already on his case for skipping church so much.
There were no calls from Joey or Shep, and this pleased him. As long as they left him alone, he’d work through this mess somehow. Kelinda’s doorbell rang and they both jumped. She ran to the window and peered through the blinds. “Is it a reporter?” Patrick asked, panicked.
“No,” she said. “It’s a florist.” She turned and faced him. “You didn’t by any chance send me flowers, did you?”
He shook his head. “No.”
She glanced out the window again, then turned to him. “Just to be safe, you go hide in the bedroom.” The doorbell rang again. “Go on. If it’s a reporter in disguise or something I’ll get rid of them. Okay?”
Patrick hurried off to her bedroom, feeling silly and paranoid. He stared at the frilly pillows piled high on Kelinda’s bed, and listened to her chatting with the delivery man. After hearing the door close, he went back into the living room where Kelinda carried a colossal bouquet of red roses over to the coffee table. She opened the card and read it silently, then looked at him with raised eyebrows. “These are for you.”
“For me? How do you know?”
She handed him the card. “Because my name isn’t Obrien.”
He took the card and read it. Obrien, sorry about your job. Now you have nothing to lose. Join us. It was signed, ‘J & S’. Patrick threw the card down on the table. “They’ve got to be kidding. After everything that’s happened they actually expect me to join them?”
“How the hell did they know you were here so fast? Or that you lost your job?”
“I don’t know. None of this makes sense. They’ve gotten what they wanted. Why don’t they just leave me out of it?”
Kelinda sat on the couch and shrugged. “Maybe they don’t feel justified without your approval. Robin said you’re the responsible one of the group.”
Patrick scoffed. “Well in this little triangle, that isn’t saying much.” He paced the room.
“At least they contacted you,” Kelinda said.
Patrick stopped and turned to her. “What?”
“I haven’t gotten so much as a phone call since I did the filming.”
“Kelinda, they’re nuts. Trust me, you’re the lucky one.”
“I suppose, but it would have been nice to get a thank you after what I did for him.”
He moved in close and studied her. “After what you did for him? Who? Joey?”
She looked up at him and flushed. “I said what I did for them.”
Patrick shook his head and pointed. “No. No, I heard you clearly. You said ‘him’. What’s the deal, Kelinda? Did you do it all for Joey? You have a thing for him? Tell me the truth.”
Kelinda glared. “You already asked me that question once, Patrick, and the answer is still no.”
“But—”
“Jealousy is a turnoff, okay? Knock it off.”
She walked into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Patrick stared at the closed door. Great. He’d been there all of five minutes and she’d locked herself in her room. This was shaping up to be a hell of a day.
He went to the window and tugged open the blinds. The flower delivery truck was pulling away from the curb. As the truck moved on, Patrick caught sight of something that made his breath catch. Across the street, scribbling into his notebook, was the dusty black-haired stranger he’d seen on the train, the one who looked like Shep. The vagrant looked up and stared directly back at Patrick. In a whirl of billowing coat, he turned and sprinted down the street, leaving Patrick to stare dumbfounded after him.
Chapter Nine
Patrick got his wish, as the press gave up on him within a day. But Calvin had been wrong about the story dying out completely. They’d turned all of their focus to Joey, who was being elusive and closed mouthed, just as Shep had instructed. To Patrick’s dismay, the tactic was having the desired effect. Local journalists raced to be the first to locate Joey, who seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. The level of coverage was ridiculous, but he supposed people were fed up with politics and bad news, and this was a sufficient distraction.
Calvin White phoned early that morning to apprise Patrick of the results of his social media scrolling. It seemed that ever since a local news blog posted a stunning, smiling photo of Joey, dozens of websites had cropped up in his honor, and the hashtag #SexyProphet was trending on twitter.
Patrick cringed at the idea that Shep may have been right about things. He refused to believe that the human element was that naïve. He was forced to re-think this conclusion later that evening, however, when he drove by Saint Mary’s church. Groups of religious hopefuls lined the street, leaving bouquets of flowers and kneeling on the ground, hoping for yet another spontaneous apparition.
The Boston talk radio programs had volatile call-in shows regarding the authenticity of the miracle and the integrity of Joey himself. The DJs let the callers argue, relishing in the controversy and subsequent ratings hike it provided. Joey’s miracle spawned shouting matches between liberals and conservatives, the believers accusing the skeptics of being hateful toward religion in general, same old fire, blazing anew with this latest accelerant.
Patrick hated the charade, but lacked the courage to step forward. His loyalty, however misguided, would not allow him to be the one to expose Joey and Shep. But he needed this to end before it grew any bigger. So, he made a perfectly cowardly decision. He’d get someone else to do it.
He couldn’t involve Kelinda. Her father was a church deacon and she was already overly paranoid about getting caught. He’d clued Calvin in, but he had the same reservations as Patrick, and didn’t want the responsibility. That left only Russell and Craig, the Hoax Patrol. He found Craig’s name and address online. He’d been searching for Russell, but he wasn’t listed. It seemed that Craig the cantankerous twin was his only choice.
Craig showed not the slightest recognition when he opened the door. “May I help you?” he asked with token impatience.
“Craig, it’s me, Patrick.” Craig stared at him blankly. “Patrick Obrien. From college? I’m Shep’s friend. Don’t you remember me? I just saw you a few weeks ago. In Shep’s basement.”
Craig looked annoyed. “Oh yes, of course. What do you want?”
“I was wondering if I could speak to you for a couple minutes.”
Craig looked him up and down. “All right. But make it quick. I’m especially busy today.”
He followed him into his apartment, where boxes stacked high on the otherwise empty floor. “Are you moving?”
“Yes. I’m going out to Los Angeles. I leave in the morning.”
Patrick’s heart sank. “Is your brother moving too?” he asked, already working on a plan B.
Craig taped up boxes, keeping his back to Patrick. “No, Russell is staying in Boston. He got a job working nights at one of the local television stations. It seems everyone else is moving though, huh? I’m sure you heard Shep and Joey moved out to Forest Bluffs.”
Patrick frowned at the back of Craig’s head. “Excuse me? They moved out to…what, the beach house?”
Craig chuckled. “Beach house? That’s a quaint way of putting it. I’ve seen pictures of the place. It’s enormous. It used to belong to Joey’s dad or something. It sits on like a bazillion acres of land.”
“Yes, I’ve been there,” Patrick said. “Are you sure they moved out there? Joey said he had to sell that place because of his father’s debts. Said he didn’t have the money to keep it up.”
Craig glanced over his shoulder. “Really? Well he got the money somewhere. He got all new furniture, and even renovated the guest house out in the back field. I saw Shep a few days ago and he was showing me pictures on his phone, seemed all excited about it.”
Patrick stared at the floor, trying to make sense of things. Joey and Shep moved down to Forest Bluffs? Why would Joey lie to him about losing the place to his father’s debt? But then Joey had lied to him before, quite recently in fact.
“Are you here to ask me about the Saint Mary’s project?” Craig asked.
“Yeah. That’s exactly what I came to talk about.”
Craig picked up another box and sealed it with packing tape. “It came out great, don’t you think? The apparition? People are really buying it. It’s always more of a rush when people believe it. I saw a bunch of them last night kneeling in front of the church.” Craig laughed and shook his head. “Priceless.”
“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m here,” Patric
k said. “People are believing it, and I think it’s wrong.”
Craig stopped what he was doing and turned around. “You think it’s wrong?”
“Yes. I think it’s wrong. I think you should come clean and admit it was a hoax. I think you should tell the local press that you created it.”
Craig stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “You’re kidding, right?” Patrick met his eyes, unflinching. Craig’s smile dropped. “Oh. You’re not kidding. Look, Patrick, take it up with Shepherd. I’m done with the hoax business. That’s why I’m moving to California. I’m going to try to get a legitimate job in the special effects industry. The Saint Mary’s job gave me enough money to leave town. I’m not about to tarnish my reputation before I even get to California.”
“I’ll go to the press myself,” Patrick threatened, knowing full well that he didn’t have the guts. “I’ll tell them about you and your brother. I’ll tell them everything.”
Craig laughed. “I’ll deny it. All of the evidence has been destroyed.”
“Maybe your brother will feel differently. Do you know where I can find him?”
“Who, Russell? Are you kidding? Russell is completely in love with your buddy Shep. He’ll refuse to turn Shep in just on the off chance Shep’ll let him suck his cock one day. He’s completely obsessed, has been since college.”
“But Shep is straight. Doesn’t Russell know that?”
Chuckling, Craig picked up another box. “Shep isn’t too straight to lead Russell on with all the attention he gives him. It pisses me off, quite frankly. It’s unfair, telling Russell he’s bisexual, giving him hope, however small.”
“Shep never said he was bisexual,” Patrick said. “Not to me.”
Craig huffed. “I don’t think he actually is. He just likes having Russell on call as his little minion in case he needs something. Shep uses people. It’s what he does.” He looked directly at Patrick. “You know that, don’t you? That he uses people?”
Patrick shrugged. “I guess.”
“Well, he does. Everyone in Shepherd’s orbit is there because he gets something from them, or because he wants something from them.” Craig went back to his packing. “Anyway, it makes no difference if Shep’s straight or not. My brother’s one of those guys that only wants the unattainable. If Russell were a straight man, he’d be going after married women. His crush on Shep has been going strong for years. Good luck with that one, pal.”