Zachary returned to the living room fully clothed. His face was haunted, and Thomas knew Zachary would need time to recover from much more than his bruises and scrapes. The terror he had suffered, the betrayal by someone he thought cared for him but who was manipulating his good nature and innocence—those wounds would run deep. Thomas sat by Zachary’s side on the sofa as he was interviewed by both the FBI and the local police. He was afraid to touch him, but he needed to give his support as Zachary recounted as well as he could the things Rumson had told him. Then Thomas filled in pieces where he was able.
When Thomas mentioned Nan Rumson’s role in the faked suicide, Randy called Lily again. Thomas heard him tell her, “You’re going to want someone to look at Rumson’s mother as an accessory after the fact for the murder of Sam Ryder. Maybe other things. Fraud on First Washington Bank, probably.”
Torres brought some evidence bags into the room. “Look at this shit,” she said to Randy, and Thomas joined them to look at a blond wig, glasses, a prosthetic nose, and an elaborate makeup kit. “See these thin rolls of cotton?” she asked. “You can use these inside your mouth and along your gums to alter the shape of your face some. With this nose on and covered with a layer of concealer, and those pieces of cotton, it’s no wonder you couldn’t be sure it was Rumson in those photos that Mr. Hall found.”
About three in the morning, Torres and the federal team finally told Zachary and Thomas they could go. “Do you want a police car to take you home, Mr. Hall?” Torres asked.
Zachary said in an exhausted voice, “The doctor said I shouldn’t be alone. The concussion….”
Randy looked quickly between Thomas and Zachary and said, “I’d bring you to my place, but I think there’s more to do here. Let’s call Joe. You can stay the night there, I’m sure.” Thomas made the call and nodded at Randy when Joe indeed insisted they bring Zachary to his apartment. To Zachary Randy said, “I have my truck downstairs. I’ll drive you to Joe and then come back here.”
Thomas hesitated and said, “Zachary, could we talk for a minute before you go?” Zachary nodded, and Torres indicated they could use the kitchen for some privacy.
Thomas and Zachary faced each other in silence. Thomas flexed his fingers and grimaced as he tried to find words. But before he could, Zachary burst out, “This is why you wouldn’t admit what we had, isn’t it? Because of Rumson?”
Thomas nodded and cleared his throat. His voice was husky as he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t explain everything. If I had, maybe you wouldn’t have been lured in by Charles, or—I don’t know. Maybe you would have been able to get away sooner.”
Zachary tilted his head. “Get away? From Sam, I mean Charles?”
“No. From me. I’m a disaster. This is my fault, like you said.”
Zachary reached out and touched Thomas’s shoulder. “It’s the fault of that sick fucker, not you. I’m sorry about the STD comment I made. I was shocked, and I didn’t take time to think what this must mean to you.”
“How could you when you didn’t know half the story until tonight? Neither did I, really.” Thomas sighed as he looked at the kitchen floor and trailed his shoe back and forth over the tile. “Even when I thought Charles was dead, he controlled my life. Every time I met someone, I was afraid he’d turn into another stalker. I had always slept around, but after Charles, my fear hardened into a rule so I could keep anyone from getting close. I thought that would somehow protect me, but it was magical thinking, I guess.”
He looked up to find Zachary watching him intently, and he continued, “Charles won in so many ways. He ruined my life in Seattle, and then he poisoned everything that’s happened since, to the point that I couldn’t see the gift I’d been given when you came into my life.”
Zachary exhaled hard. “Thomas, I felt something for you from the night we met. But you pushed me away again and again. I don’t know what I’m doing right now, and I certainly don’t know how to feel about… well, you.” He paused and said, “No, that’s a lie. I know how I feel about you and what I want. I just don’t think I can make a rational choice right now.”
Thomas nodded and returned his gaze to the kitchen tile. “I understand, believe me. I know I’ve hurt you, and this shit is going to take time to process.” He looked up and reached out tentatively to touch Zach’s face. Zachary leaned slightly into his hand. Thomas swallowed hard and said, “If you come out the other side of this and you find that you still want me, Zach, I promise I’ll be there. I won’t say the words you may think you want from me now because it wouldn’t be fair to you. But this is as real for me as it was for you.”
Zach nodded, and then Randy stuck his head around the corner. Zach and Randy left together without another word.
A few minutes later, Thomas thanked Detective Torres again and drove himself home to an empty condo. All he could do was hope Zach was all right and that he would reach out if he needed—or wanted—anything Thomas could give.
ON THE street Randy unlocked his truck to let Zachary in the passenger door. He muttered as he yanked a parking ticket off his windshield and then climbed in.
“I’d like to pay that,” Zachary said. “You helped save my life, Randy.” Suddenly his careful control slipped, and he found himself crying and sobbing into his hands. Randy awkwardly put an arm around his shoulder.
“Hey, kid, hey. You’re okay now. It’s over, and you’re safe,” he murmured until Zachary calmed down. When Zachary leaned away, Randy withdrew his arm.
“Geez. I’m such a baby,” Zachary said as he ran the heels of his hands over his eyes to wipe the tears.
“No. You’re a survivor,” Randy growled. “Not only that, but you kept it together and gave the police what they needed. Rumson won’t be able to hurt anyone again. That’s on you, Zachary. You beat him, man. You won.”
Zachary flushed with gratitude and squared his shoulders a bit. “Thanks, Randy. For everything.”
Randy turned back toward the steering wheel and started the engine. “You’re welcome, but it wasn’t just me.”
Zachary looked out the window as Randy navigated through the dark streets to make his way toward Joe’s place. Finally he said quietly, “Thomas came there to help me.” Zachary looked quickly at Randy for confirmation.
Randy nodded. “He did. You brought something out in Thomas that I didn’t even know was there, and we’ve been good friends for a few years now. When Rumson came after him in Seattle, by his own account, he was practically paralyzed. He couldn’t do shit to stop it from happening. But when he knew Rumson had you, fuck if he didn’t grow balls of steel.” He flicked a glance at Zachary. “You mean more to him than anyone.”
Zachary nodded, but his lips were sealed tightly together. He finally said, “It’s crazy. I knew he was out of my league when I met him, but for weeks I kept up this insane idea that maybe he saw something in me. I finally gave up, though, because he seemed so… I don’t know.” He looked at Randy. “Impenetrable.”
Randy barked a short laugh. “That’s a good word for him, I agree. Or it used to be. I don’t know when it happened, but he fell for you.” He glanced again at Zachary and asked, “Is it too late for the two of you?”
Zachary looked out the window. “I don’t know, Randy. I don’t know what to think about him. About anything, really.”
“For what it’s worth, kid, I’d say just give yourself some time. Don’t jump to call Thomas or talk it through or any of that usual bullshit. I know Thomas. He’s not going anywhere while you process this crap that happened to you.”
“Okay. I’ll think about that.”
Randy continued softly, “Hey, kid, you also need to get ready for the public onslaught that’s going to come your way.”
Zachary whipped his head around in alarm. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Rich, gay, psycho murderer took you prisoner and nearly killed you too. It’s going to hit the news,” Randy observed.
“Shit,” Zachary said with a sigh. “I’m
going to have to warn my parents.”
“Is that a problem?”
“I’ve never even told them I’m gay. Now I have to tell them I was nearly fucked to death with a nail-studded dildo gun.” Zachary shocked himself by laughing and covered his mouth with his hand. After a moment to compose himself, he dropped his arm, shook his head wearily, and sagged against the seat. “It’s like every one of their terrible ideas about gay people come true.”
Randy took a hand off the wheel to punch Zachary lightly in the arm. “You might want to think about a different headline for that story. Something like ‘Mom, Dad, I’m alive.’”
“Yeah, maybe. You’re right, Randy. I’ll call as soon as I get to Joe’s, in case it’s on the morning news shows.”
As though Randy’s words were a prophecy, Zachary’s phone suddenly rang with a number he didn’t recognize. Randy must have seen the puzzled look on his face, because he said, “Better let it roll to voice mail if you don’t know the number.”
Zachary took that advice, but immediately a strange text popped up asking him to call. Then the phone rang again with a different number. Zachary looked at Randy and said, “I think it’s starting.”
By the time Randy reached Joe’s apartment building, his cell phone indicated thirty-five calls and dozens of text messages and e-mails from people whose numbers or names he didn’t know.
“I have some experience in media frenzies from the Secret Service days, so if you need help handling this, give me a call.” Randy asked. “If nothing else I can put you in touch with people able to guide you through it.”
Zachary leaned across the seats to hug Randy. “Thank you again. For all of it.” When he sat back, he had lifted the parking ticket from Randy’s shirt pocket. He waved it in his fingers as he jumped out of the truck. “I’ve got this.”
Randy chuckled and rolled down the window. “Okay, kid. Take care of yourself, but don’t be a stranger.”
JOE USHERED Zachary into his apartment and fussed until he got Zachary settled in an overstuffed armchair.
“Dear heart, I’m aghast this has happened to you. You must be exhausted so I won’t ask you about it tonight.”
“Thanks, Joe. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. I’d really like to get some sleep, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, you dear man. I was just finishing the sheets on the guest bed. Give me a moment.” Joe rushed off, and Zachary started to doze. A knock came at the door, and Joe hurried back to open it.
Zachary heard Terry’s voice. “I didn’t want to let myself in, but is he all right?”
Joe answered, “He seems to be. Come along, Terry. Of course you should let yourself in.”
Terry came into the living room and crouched next to Zachary’s chair. “Are you doing okay, Zachary?”
“Hi, Terry. Yes. I think I’m going to be fine.”
Terry looked sheepishly at Joe. “Randy called me. He thought I’d want to know. I’m sorry for just… barging in like this.”
Joe seemed nervous and twisted his hands. Zachary suddenly had a feeling he knew why Randy had called Terry. He stood up.
“I can’t thank you both enough for taking care of me this way. You were the first friends I made in DC, so it means a lot you’d let me stay the night here.”
Joe reached to take Zachary’s hand in both of his. “You’ll stay as long as you need, dear heart. This evening has been terrible for you. Would you like a drink, perhaps, to calm your nerves?”
“The doctor said I shouldn’t have alcohol, but some water would be good. I’m supposed to stay hydrated. Oh, and maybe some dry toast?” Joe scurried toward the kitchen, and Terry led him to the guest room. Zachary’s head was still aching, so he asked Terry, “Do you have any aspirin?” Then Zachary shivered as he recalled asking Sam—no, Charles—for the same thing. He began to tremble harder, but Terry got him in bed and pulled the comforter up. He sat on the edge and stroked Zachary’s head gently until the tremors stopped. When Terry went to the bathroom to retrieve some Tylenol, Joe brought in a glass of water and a plate with a piece of toast.
Soon Zachary was settled, the light was off, and the door was cracked. He could hear Joe and Terry talking quietly in the living room.
Finally alone, he should have been able to rest, but the events began to catch up to him again. All Zachary could think of was how ordinary Sam Ryder seemed to him before the bottom fell out of his reality. He thought about Thomas and the despair in his eyes when he saw Zachary trussed up on the padded bench. He remembered Thomas going to his knees, begging for Zachary’s life. He knew he was going to die, and then somehow Randy, Thomas, and that police detective saved him.
Zachary found he was shaking again and on the brink of tears. Maybe he should have asked Joe to keep him company, though he could still hear the quiet voices from the living room. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and considered what he really wanted—to call Thomas right then and beg him to come over. Randy’s advice warred in his mind with his need to understand what Thomas felt and what he was offering.
Finally he shook his head. Randy was right. In his state he couldn’t trust himself to make a good decision, and he didn’t want to fuck up what might be a real chance with Thomas.
He jumped when his cell phone buzzed with yet another message, so he focused on that. Right. He needed to call his parents. It wouldn’t be fair for them to turn on the news in the morning and hear their son’s name.
His stomach tightened again, and he felt nauseated. He had to make that call, but the blood rushed in his ears. What if they disowned him for being gay? He had kept his secret from them for so long. Every time he went to Rainbow Space and saw those teenagers who had been discarded by their families for being different, and every time he thought of the homeless kids in the soup kitchen in Ogden, he wondered if that could have been him.
Then he thought of Joe and Terry taking him in. He thought of Randy storming into Charles’s apartment, gun drawn to protect him. He thought of Thomas—not the Thomas who begged Charles for Zachary’s life on bended knees, but the man he met that first night in Mata Hari. That Thomas, on the basis of one evening’s conversation, had told Zachary he was stronger than he knew. Zachary’s heart rate slowed as he pondered that idea.
Even if the discussion with his parents went badly, he was a survivor like Randy said. He had friends who fought for him. He’d survived a monstrous deception and physical attack. He’d made it through Charles Rumson, so he could certainly risk the disapproval of Jerry and Martha Hall.
Zachary wished he could do it in person, but it simply wasn’t possible. He clenched his jaw, picked up his cell, and pressed their number as he glanced at the clock glowing on the nightstand. Even with the time change, they had probably been in bed for hours.
His mother picked up. She must have seen the caller ID because she said sharply, “Zachary? It’s so late. Is everything all right?”
“Not really, Mom, but I’m okay. I’m sorry to call like this but this is really important. Is Dad there? Can he pick up too, or can you put it on speaker?”
He heard his mother say, away from the mouthpiece, “Jerry, pick up the line in the kitchen. Zachary needs to talk to us. He says it’s important.” He heard the bed creak as his father got to his feet.
A moment later the line clicked as his father picked up the extension. “What’s up, sport?” his father asked sleepily.
Zachary took a deep breath and again followed Randy’s advice. “The first thing you need to know is I’m alive. I came close to getting killed tonight, but I’m okay.”
He heard his mother suck in her breath as his father exclaimed, “What’s going on, Zachary? Were you in an accident?”
“Not like that.” He swallowed hard, and his heart thumped painfully. “God, this is hard. Dad, Mom, I’m gay.”
“Were you gay bashed?” his mother asked immediately, and her voice cracked in alarm.
His father barked at the same time, “How were you near
ly killed?”
In broad terms Zachary haltingly explained what had happened—that he had been going out with a man who turned out to be a killer and who had planned to kill Zachary until he was rescued by the police and by two friends.
“There’s going to be a lot of media attention, I think, so this might get picked up on the national news,” Zachary said as he concluded his story.
His mother was crying. “You could have been killed, Zachary. Someone wanted to hurt my little boy.” Through her tears, she declared, “I’m coming out there tomorrow.”
“Or maybe you should come home to Utah right away,” his father added. “Before the media finds you.”
Zachary felt a burst of warmth, and the muscles he had been clenching suddenly relaxed. He fell back against the chair in Joe’s guest room and covered his mouth with his hand. Their first instinct wasn’t to blame him for being gay. It was to protect him.
“Thanks, Dad, Mom,” he finally got out, though emotion nearly robbed his voice. “I think I can handle it. I was really scared at the time. Well, I’m still pretty freaked, but the doctor who checked me out”—his mother wailed again—“he said I’m physically fine. I have a few bruises and a headache from getting knocked out. I have a mild concussion, but I’m staying with a friend who can keep an eye on that.”
“How will you deal with the reporters?” his father asked.
“And Jerry, what should we say if they call here?” his mother chimed in.
Zachary said, “I’m laying low for now, and I know someone with experience. I’m going to ask him or the police detective who helped me how to get a handle on this. I won’t talk to anyone else until then.”
His mother said, “I’m glad you have friends until I can get there, Zachary. You always did make friends so easily. You shouldn’t be alone with this.”
“I’m not alone.” Zachary felt a sob of relief try to force its way out of his chest, and he struggled to control his voice as he said, “I’m sorry I never told you I was gay before. You both have strong feelings about that, I know.”
Every Breath You Take Page 24