Rattling Chains

by T. Strange

  “I’m okay. So are you, and so is Charles. Hell, even James is gonna pull through, they think.” He laughed. “Beth might kill you, though. She told me to tell you you’re a reckless idiot, and that you owe all three of them drinks for scaring them.”

  Harlan managed to filter out the important part of what Hamilton said. “You’ve seen Charles?” There… That was something to focus on, to gather himself enough to concentrate and speak.

  “I have. I visited him just before you. He’s still asleep. You were asleep earlier, too, but I came to see you as soon as they let me. I’ve been here most of the night.” He grinned, giving Harlan a very light punch on the upper arm. “You did good, kid.”

  Harlan shrugged, picking at a spot of lint on his blanket. Hamilton’s praise meant a lot to him, but he wasn’t sure he deserved it. He could see the chair where Hamilton had been sitting, with a magazine tossed carelessly on it.

  “Hey.” Hamilton placed a hand on Harlan’s shoulder. “You did.”

  Harlan nodded. He didn’t really believe Hamilton, but he could tell the man was being sincere and he didn’t want to argue. “Charles is really okay?” he asked, eager to take Hamilton’s attention off himself.

  “They gave him a CT scan and said there’s no internal damage, but they want to keep him under observation for a few days.” He gave Harlan’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “But he’s okay. If you’d like, I can ask a nurse for a wheelchair and we can go visit him. He might still be asleep,” he warned, “so don’t expect too much. They won’t want us to bother him or wake him up.”

  Harlan nodded again, squeezing his eyes tightly shut so he wouldn’t cry. He needed to see Charles, so badly that it was an almost physical ache. He needed to be sure Charles was all right, but almost as important, he needed to know how Charles felt about him. If Charles never wanted to see him again, Harlan thought he could survive that, but he wanted to know now, immediately, before his feelings for Charles had any more time to grow.

  “All right. You wait here.” Hamilton chuckled. “I’ll see about busting you outta here.”

  Harlan’s eyelids were so heavy. He could close them, just for a moment. Just until Hamilton returned.

  He blinked, and the light in his room was completely different. Before, his window had been barely lit, and now sunlight was streaming across the floor onto the empty bed opposite his.

  “Hey.” Hamilton’s voice again.

  Harlan felt a hot rush of shame. Hamilton had tried to help him, and he’d fallen asleep like a useless lump. “Sorry.”

  Hamilton stood, moved to where Harlan could see him without sitting up or turning his head. “No need to apologize. You clearly needed the sleep. But”—he stepped aside with a flourish, revealing a wheelchair—“I’ve gotten permission to take you on a field trip. A short one.”

  “Thank you.” Harlan’s voice sounded a little steadier, a little more like himself, but it was still harsh and grating.

  Hamilton waved a dismissive hand and helped Harlan into the chair. “You can push your own IV pole.”

  Harlan nodded.

  Outside the relative shelter of his little room, the hustle and bustle and noise of the hospital corridor was overwhelming. Deciding his injuries and ordeal had earned him a little self-indulgence, he gave in to his desire and closed his eyes, hunching over in his wheelchair a little so he’d have less sensory overload. He liked having the IV pole to grip. Having something solid to hold on to, feeling the cool metal warm in his hand, grounded him a little.

  Hamilton had to push him one-handed. His left arm was encased in a blindingly white cast. It was already covered in signatures and well-wishes. Clearly Hamilton was well liked and plenty of people had visited him.

  The wheelchair stopped, and Hamilton stepped away and knocked on a door.

  Harlan felt a nearly physical sense of relief when Charles responded, “Come in.”

  Hamilton opened the door and wheeled Harlan inside.

  Harlan wanted to keep his eyes closed, to stay quiet and still. Now that he was in the same room as Charles, he felt panicky and wanted to leave. This had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have come to Charles, not so soon, not right away. He should’ve left the decision to see him or not up to Charles. God, he was an idiot.

  Still, he was there, and he didn’t want to look like the coward he knew he was. He opened his eyes, forced himself to look up.

  Charles sat up in bed, wincing a little. He smiled when he saw his visitors. “Harlan! I’m so glad to see you. Hamilton said you were okay when I first got to the hospital, but I was still worried. I’d get up, but…” He made a wry face, tapping the white bandage wrapping his partially shaved head. “That, and I’m on some pretty good drugs. I don’t think I could stand up.”

  Harlan hoped he wasn’t misreading Charles’ expression, which seemed to say, ‘if only we were alone’.

  Seeming to sense this, Hamilton stretched very pointedly. “We-ell…I think I’m going to see if the vending machines have anything new since the last time I checked.” Winking at Harlan, he walked out of the room, whistling, and closed the door behind him.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” Charles said, almost before Hamilton had completely gone.

  “Me too.” And that you’re glad to see me, Harlan thought. He hoped Charles couldn’t see just how relieved he was.

  “Like the new look?” Moving a little stiffly, Charles reached up and rubbed his freshly bald head, careful to avoid the bandages.

  “I—”

  “Sorry. I was just teasing. I’m definitely not going to keep it this way. Even though it means my manliest scar will get covered up. Well, I haven’t actually seen it yet, but I’m assuming there’ll be a scar.” Charles frowned. “You okay?”

  Harlan nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah. I was just…worried about you.”

  “I’m okay. Still got all my arms and legs—and head, which might be the biggest issue. What’s wrong? Are you hurting? I can press this handy-dandy button and summon a nurse to help you back to your room.”

  Harlan shook his head.

  “What is it, then?” Charles looked increasingly worried, which just made Harlan feel worse. “Come closer. I feel weird talking to you way over there.”

  “I’m…I’m so sorry.”

  “What?” Charles leaned forward a little, gritting his teeth and hissing in pain. “Sorry? What for?”

  Harlan stared down at his lap. “For almost getting you killed. For…for coming back, after, like…”

  “Come here.”

  Harlan looked up at the clear order, surprised.

  “I can’t go over to you, so you’ll just have to come here,” Charles added, more gently.

  Hands trembling, Harlan wheeled himself over to Charles’ bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up.

  “Hey. Did you kill a bunch of people and knock me out?”

  Harlan shook his head.

  “Well.” Harlan felt Charles’ fingers pressing lightly beneath his jaw, gently tipping his head up. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for then, do you?”

  To his shame, Harlan’s eyes fill with hot tears and he tried to blink them away, furiously. He shook his head, then looked up at Charles. “But it was my fault you were there. Mine. You wouldn’t have been in danger if it hadn’t been for me. I never should have brought you. I almost got you killed, and I—”

  Charles held up a hand for silence, which Harlan was happy to obey. Making sure he had Harlan’s attention, Charles kissed his fingertips, then pressed them against Harlan’s forehead. “Sorry if that feels more like a blessing than a kiss, but it’s the best I can do right now. I don’t blame you. I promise, I don’t blame you. I blame the crazy asshole who’s actually responsible—and he’s dead.”

  Harlan frowned, as if by concentrating really hard he could read every muscle of Charles’ face and glean whether or not he was telling the truth. He couldn’t, but he wanted to believe, and Charles looked so earnest… “Thank
you,” he said, barely above a whisper.

  Charles extended his hand, not quite able to reach Harlan, so Harlan moved closer and took it. Charles gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze, and Harlan felt strain he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying flow out of him at Charles’ touch. He hadn’t realized it until now, but he needed that contact to fully, finally believe that Charles was all right, that he was alive and safe and that this wasn’t a dream.

  Charles yawned, quickly covering his mouth with his free hand. “Sorry. It’s these meds they gave me.” He jerked his head at the IV. “They make me feel good, but also”—he yawned again—“sleepy.”

  Harlan nodded. He wasn’t sure what was in his own IV, but it didn’t seem to be making him drowsy. “I’ll let you sleep, then.”

  “It was really good to see you.” Charles gave another squeeze, and Harlan suspected Charles had needed to touch him almost as badly. “And I’ll see you again. Later. After I wake up.” It teetered on the edge of being a question rather than a statement.

  “Of course. If…if you want…”

  “I do.” A third yawn, and Charles’ eyes were drifting shut.

  Harlan stayed until Charles’ breathing slowed and his grip loosened, then he wheeled himself to the door.

  Hamilton was leaning on the wall just outside. “Ready to go back, champ?”

  Harlan couldn’t help grinning. Champ? What was next—’sport’? ‘Tiger’? “Yeah. Thanks. For taking me to see him.”

  “Yeah.” Hamilton grabbed the back of the wheelchair and pushed Harlan back to his room while Harlan wheeled the IV pole again. Hamilton helped him into bed, tucked him in, then stood awkwardly to the side.

  He didn’t think he was on the same drugs as Charles, but Harlan was starting to feel sleepy. Now he was yawning, and he closed his eyes, just so he wouldn’t have to look at Hamilton hovering.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Hamilton?”

  “Jesus!” Hamilton almost dropped his Styrofoam coffee cup, balancing it at the last second. “I thought you were asleep!”

  “Sorry.” Harlan hoped Hamilton hadn’t seen him smile. It was nice to finally get the drop on his partner, instead of the other way around. “Can…can I ask you something?”

  “You just did,” Hamilton said with a smirk, as Harlan had suspected he would.

  Harlan rolled his eyes.

  “Is it about the case?”

  Harlan shook his head.

  “Yeah, sure, shoot. I think you’ve earned yourself at least one question from me. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer, though.”

  “Why…” Harlan sighed, almost wishing he hadn’t asked in the first place. Too late now. He wanted to know more than he was afraid of asking. “Why did you hate me so much when we first started working together?”

  Hamilton gave him a sharp look, a brief flash of anger fading into something Harlan couldn’t read. “I’m surprised you don’t know already.” He took a long swallow of his black vending-machine coffee, grimaced and swallowed once more. “Then again, you don’t exactly pal around with…well, anyone.” He leaned forward, setting the coffee cup on the floor between his feet and resting his elbows on his knees.

  He looked as vulnerable as Harlan had ever seen him, and Harlan was determined that, no matter what Hamilton told him, he’d be worthy of that trust.

  “I’m trans.”

  Harlan blinked, not sure what to say.

  “I transitioned before I joined this department. I used to work in Calgary. Someone found out, and word got around, and…” Hamilton’s fist clenched, and he slowly forced it open again. He was staring at the coffee cup, not looking up at Harlan. “I had to move, to uproot my whole life. I was really scared the same thing was going to happen here. I was just…going through a really shitty time in my life, and I was looking for someone to blame. And then you got assigned to me.” He shrugged, finally looking up and shooting Harlan a brief grin. “It was a shit assignment—everyone said so—and I couldn’t help but feel like I was being punished. I took it out on you and that wasn’t fair. So…I’m sorry.” He met Harlan’s eyes for an uncomfortably long time, almost challenging, then he laughed. “If it helps, I took it out on everyone else, too. A lot of people knew I wasn’t happy about it. That has nothing to do with me being trans, everything to do with how people have treated me when they found out and how I thought you were a symptom of that treatment.” It all came out in a rush, and Hamilton was breathing a little heavily by the time he’d finished. He snorted. “Plus, I was kinda an asshole way before I transitioned. Way before I knew I was trans!”

  “Thank you.” Harlan wasn’t sure what else to say, but he was genuinely touched that Hamilton would share something so personal. “I hope you don’t still see it as a punishment, but…I understand if this isn’t what you wanted to do. If you want to become a detective or… I really have no idea what your idea of advancement is. But I understand if it takes you away from me.” He’d never really thought about Hamilton’s personal or even professional life outside of their work together.

  “Nah, you’re not so bad. For a while, anyway.”

  They smiled at each other, a new lightness between them.

  “What’s your name? Your first name, I mean?”

  “What?” Hamilton laughed. “I told you the first day we met!”

  Harlan felt his face flush as he desperately thought back to their meeting. Had Hamilton told him his name, and he’d simply been too anxious for it to even register?

  Hamilton wagged a finger at him. “And anyway, you’re over your question limit.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Curt.”

  “That’s not what I would’ve guessed.”

  Hamilton—Curt—snorted. “What would you have guessed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, I have something for you.” Hamilton held up a stack of pamphlets and tossed them onto Harlan’s lap.

  He picked them up. They were all for psychic and medium support groups, several specifically for those working with the police. He made a face.

  “Yeah, I told them you’d say that, but after what happened, a lot of people are very interested in making sure you have someone to talk to.”

  Harlan shrugged, but held on to the pamphlets. He caught sight of a manila folder under Hamilton’s chair.

  He sat up. “Is that about the case?”

  Hamilton sighed. “Yeah, it is.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “I don’t know. You’re still healing, so you don’t need to be worrying about this shit right now.”

  “I can’t think about anything else.” And he couldn’t, now that he’d seen Charles.

  Hamilton sighed, the sound turning into a chuckle. “Yeah, I can’t blame you. I’d be the same in your position. All right. But if that”—he pointed to the heart monitor—“starts going beep-beep-beep and a nurse shows up, you’re on your own. I had nothing to do with it. I’ll eat the folder if I have to. Get rid of the evidence.”

  “Deal.”

  “Actually, I have a question, first.”

  Harlan grinned. “Changing the terms already. Sneaky.”

  “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”

  “Nothing. What’s your question?”

  Hamilton’s jaw tensed. “What that nutjob said, about some people’s ghosts being closer to the outside, the people he killed… Do you know what he meant? Have you ever seen anything like that?”

  Harlan shook his head. “I think…I think he might’ve been seeing some sort of pattern, something about all his victims that drew him in, but I didn’t see it. It could also just as easily have been random and he convinced himself these people—I don’t know—deserved to die, because he’d killed them. I think he had a lot of medium potential and no safe outlet for it. I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure, and…I’m glad about that.” He shuddered, nibbling the tip of his thumb. “I can’t imagine what it would be like, seeing what I see and eve
ryone around me thinking I’m crazy or worse, my whole life…” He managed a faint grin. “I’m only surprised there aren’t more like him out there.”

  “Jesus. Fuck. What about the ghosts you saw—the ones that tipped you off in the first place?”

  Harlan had wondered the same thing. “Honestly? I have no idea. Maybe he just had too many ghosts to control, and some of them were able to slip free. I think they just sort of drifted to the next closest ghost because they’d already been ripped from where they should have been haunting—if they even would’ve become ghosts in the first place.”

  “On that delightful note, our perp’s name is—was—Samuel Harkness. Born September ninth, 1927.”

  Harlan frowned. “That’s got to be a typo. Right?”

  “I thought the same thing, but no, it checks out.”

  “That would make him almost a hundred! Except for the white hair, he looked barely older than me.”

  Hamilton shrugged. “That’s your department. I just know the facts.” He tapped the sheet of paper in front of him. “He’s been doing this a long time, and he was very patient. Only ever killed one, maybe two people a year. Never escalated. There was nothing to connect the disappearances, and most of the people wouldn’t have been missed, anyway.” He waved a hand at Harlan’s expression. “I’m not saying they wouldn’t be missed. I just mean… Never mind. They didn’t exactly have people breaking down the police station doors demanding justice. He might never have been caught if it hadn’t been for you, meddling kid.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a reference…but never mind. You need to watch more TV. He might’ve kept doing this for decades if you hadn’t noticed the pattern.” Hamilton cocked his head to the side. “But I think, eventually, it would’ve caught up to him. Everything’s getting digitized, and computers are great at making connections that people might not. Still, you got him off the street.”

  “It could have been any medium.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “I don’t know why.”