My boyfriend, Ellery, twitched in his sleep, a sort of whole-bodied, unnerving twitch accompanied by a whimper. He seemed to be trying to curl as small as possible — and get away from me. It was probably just instinct, but I wished he'd move towards me for comfort and safety when he had a nightmare.
I sat up, caught hold of his shoulder, and gently shook it.
"Oh! Oooh!" He sounded unnerved, to say the least. I didn't want to think "frightened." But it wasn't a happy sound. He came awake twitching, uncurling from his nervous position, and blinked at me several times rapidly before he seemed to recognize me. Then the curious blankness left his face.
"Are you okay?" I sounded gruff; it didn't hide my concern.
He nodded. He looked small and sleepy, vulnerable and big-eyed. The fear wasn't gone, but it was sliding away, along with that blankness. I hated that look, like he was somewhere I couldn't go, somewhere I couldn't help him.
Now he moved into my arms with a little lunge, awake enough to remember where he was safe, and with whom.
He was my boyfriend, my partner. We'd been dating for nearly six months, and our life together had been good so far. At least, it was six months of dating for me. For Ellery, who's a clair (clairvoyant), we'd been in a relationship since we'd first met. In the past, visions had shown him we'd be dating someday, even married — although I didn't quite want to think about that most of the time.
I couldn't rush into marriage just because he'd foreseen it. Even though he'd never been wrong about a vision before — call me crazy, but I wanted the relationship to go at its proper pace, not get jumbled up, complicated, and rushed because we were trying to make it come true sooner.
To give him credit, he wasn't in any hurry, either. He was happy taking our time, just being with me. He was content, calm, and at peace — most of the time.
Me, I'm an empath (ranking three-point-five, official ESRB graduate), so I really could tell how he was feeling. I never had to guess. I was glad when he felt happy and content with me, with our relationship. And right now, because I'd felt his distress in the dream, I was disturbed.
I wrapped my arms around him, and he slowly grew still and heavy in my arms, relaxing, his breathing deepening. "Was it a vision?" I asked him, rubbing his back gently, wishing I could chase away every bad feeling that might ever attack him.
"Mm. No." He shook his head against me, gently. He was smaller than I was, and a gentle and sensitive guy. He was also gorgeous and sweet and thoughtful, and an amazing lover. Sometimes I couldn't imagine how I'd gotten so lucky. Other times I felt pretty screwy and scared, because every other time I'd fallen for a guy, I'd ended up falling flat on my face, brokenhearted and alone again before long.
Sometimes it was an effort just to get through the day without freaking out. But I hadn't lost him so far, and nearly six months had gone by of getting to know him, enjoying his company, doing things together — and sharing some pretty amazing sex, if I do say so myself.
We worked together for The Shardwell Group, a big company that used our talents to keep honest the people associated with the contracts, business, testing and medical research the company did. I worked directly under Kevin Goodwin, my boss and friend, a very honest man and something of a workaholic.
I worked hard, traveling with him or sitting in on meetings, paying careful attention to the readings I got off people he had to deal with. There were some heavy responsibilities to it, and I could work long hours with a big need for concentration. I had never been good at that before, but somehow it helped that it was with Kevin, someone who took my abilities seriously and really wanted to know what I could tell him.
I was also good at it, and I liked Kevin. He was protective of me, respectful, generous, and warm-hearted. I could always tell what he was feeling, and he was calm and responsible, with a non-volatile personality. He was unfailingly respectful and pleasant to me; I really enjoyed being around him.
When the day was done, or during various breaks throughout, I could meet up with my boyfriend, Ellery Smess. We often ate together in the company cafeteria, or worked out at the gym, or walked through the greenhouse area. It was a huge company in a huge building; we didn't have to leave it for days if we didn't want to.
Ell worked hard, too. He spent his days going over contracts and studies, visiting different parts of the building, and being exposed to as much of the workforce and as many projects as possible. He was a small, delicate, nervous man with very pale hair which often got a bit wild. He was skinny, although he had nice muscle definition (earned at great cost in the gym, often with me working out beside him), and he needed to be around people and projects a lot to let his ability work.
Although he was a clair, his ranking was four. There are few enough clairs around that it's still an incredibly valuable skill, one that The Shardwell Group paid through the nose for, along with extra perks and oversight to keep him from burning out. Because he had a low ranking, he only rarely had visions, and his talent usually manifested in a feeling of uneasiness about something. It had to be something fairly closely connected with him, which was why he had to visit as much of the company, as often as possible.
He was also conscientious and had a nervous disposition, so it got pretty stressful for him sometimes. It was a big responsibility.
About six months ago, just after we'd started our relationship, there had been an upset, an upheaval in the company, as a couple of the CEOs who wanted to do something crooked tried to have us kidnapped, and set up Kevin to take the blame. With honest Kevin gone, and the clair and empath missing, there could've been room for a lot more dishonesty slipped under the rug.
Fortunately, Ellery's talent had warned him, and we'd gotten away safely. It had been touch and go for a while, but Kevin had eventually gotten everything straightened out, securing his position and keeping the company safe. The CEOs involved were currently serving time for a variety of offenses, including attempted kidnapping.
The incident had taken a toll on Ellery. He'd been terrified he was wrong, or that I wouldn't trust him, or of something else going wrong. It had felt like a huge responsibility resting on his shoulders, and in fact, he'd felt that way about the whole company.
He filled out regular reports on his condition, mental and physical, and was kept in touch with the ESRB regularly. On top of that, he had counseling sessions, frequent vacations, and anything he needed from Kevin, or Erin Comely, another friend in the company. She worked with Kevin and took care of us and a lot of other things with great efficiency.
When Ell and I weren't working, we lived in a pair of rooms in the same building. We usually traded nights sleeping at each place. We'd been talking about picking one, or asking for a different, bigger place to stay together, but inertia had kept us from it so far. Besides, it was nice having the extra storage of two rooms and getting to pick where we wanted to sleep every night.
We watched a lot of movies, cuddling shamelessly, and enjoyed ourselves in bed a great deal. We did as many of our daily activities together as we could, and Ellery always felt happier if I was near him. I don't think he was codependent, but he did feel less nervous if I was nearby. I guess my brash, restless personality helped him feel less nervous and shy. He was a very quiet guy most of the time, and had trouble speaking up.
He'd been through the wringer with his talents. I guess anyone who has enough of a talent to get ranked by the ESRB does live through some bad stuff — and it even happens to plenty who don't — but it had been especially hard on him.
Sometimes I think that's why there are so few clairs. They end up drugged out of their minds for anxiety and hallucinations, diagnosed with mental disorders and locked up. It takes a strong person to survive all of that, and it hadn't left him unscathed. It was often really hard for him to confront anyone, deal with authority figures, or let people know what he was feeling and thinking. The constant fear that they would decide he was crazy again lived just under the surface of his safe, happy life.
I wanted to make it better, of course. But there was only so much I could do. Add in my fear of commitment and fear of losing him, and we both had some issues.
We'd been seeing a counselor somewhat regularly since the beginning. She kept on us to be our real selves and not try to change to be whomever we thought the other person wanted. It was a problem, for both of us. I'd always tried to twist myself into someone my partners could love, so they'd stay. It had never been very successful, but it was a hard habit to break. Ell was happy I was finally in his life after he'd waited for me so long. He was a people-pleaser anyway, but he tried even harder with me.
We were trying to do better, though. We were working on it, taking life one day at a time, and trying to be honest with each other.
Ell had complained more than once, though, that I could always read him and had an unfair advantage. I could hide things from him, and he had no way of calling me on it.
I did rely heavily on my talent for understanding Ell and communicating with him, but it wasn't exactly something I could turn off. It had been both a blessing and a curse all my life, even before I knew it was a real thing. I'd always been the guy who couldn't shut up and had to call people on their lies and misdirections. Add to that a tendency to run off at the mouth, being unable to sit still, and having a somewhat abrasive personality, and I wasn't a real popular guy.
Finally, though, I'd found a work environment where I fit. It felt like a lucky thing, since I'd never really had that before. Even in school, I'd pretty much been despised by all the teachers. Even the teachers I genuinely liked had usually ended up hating my guts. And, I mean, you can tell a kid the teacher doesn't hate them, it isn't personal, but if they're an empath? Even if they don't know they're an empath, they know. I always knew, and it always hurt.
But Kevin liked me, and they listened to me here, and the job was something I could actually do. Add in my relationship with Ellery, a man who genuinely loved me and wanted to keep me, and it was pretty much the happiest time in my life.
Oh, and the company paid me well, and I often got to go on vacation with Ell. It was a sweet, happy life. The problems were few, and were things we could work on. We could affect our environment, get help if we needed it, and we enjoyed a varied and fun life. The Shardwell Group's building, where we lived, provided a lot of things that made our lives easier. We had access to a buffet that was more like a five-star restaurant, a laundry service, a state of the art gym, and a beautiful greenhouse area. We lived in the very lap of luxury.
If I sometimes felt like we hadn't earned it and never could, Kev was always willing to reassure me I was doing something important, and Ellery had told me more than once that it made a big different.
"Keeping big, rich corporations honest is a huge thing, Peter," he'd told me seriously, more than once, staring at me with his earnest, soft blue eyes. "Add in the fact that they do medical research and development — new drugs, attempts to cure cancer, all kinds of things — and it's really, really important that they're as honest as possible. This company affects so many people, even if many of them never know it."
I suppose it could've felt like we were working for some evil empire at times, if the people we worked with in person weren't generally so kind and honest. Kev was almost too good to be real, and Erin genuinely cared about taking care of us and doing the best, most diligent and trustworthy, honest job possible.
With pillars like them, and a company that actually listened when we gave a warning about something shady, it felt like we mattered, and that the company actually gave a damn about not hurting people or twisting the rules.
Personally, I knew it wasn't "the company" as much as enough people in it willing to work to foster a culture of honesty, oversight, and ethics. It had a much better feel than a lot of the jobs I'd held down. It made me feel good to work here, and it seemed to draw people who felt the same way. I naturally felt the emotions from anyone I came into contact with — it wasn't something I could turn off and on — and since I often went on Ellery's rounds with him, I had contact with plenty of people. From most of them, I got the same impressions. This was a good place to work; these were honest people.
While I wouldn't say there was one hundred percent job satisfaction, it was a company where you felt like you were making a difference, and there were people who cared about you — a good place to work, a place that felt safe.
In some job environments, you get the feeling they'd sell your body for dog food in a second, if it was even marginally legal. If it was even something that wasn't legal but would take years and millions of dollars to prosecute. After all, there were always lawyers on staff, and they needed to be kept busy somehow.
It didn't feel like that here.
#
I hadn't realized how much my presence actually did change Ellery, until two separate people mentioned it to me in one day.
I'd heard before that he seemed more confident, more comfortable in his own skin — and I knew it was at least somewhat true — but it hadn't quite occurred to me how big a difference it was, even from the outside, until then.
"He's doing much better about telling us when something feels wrong," said a scientist, Dr. Collins, giving me an appraising, rather awed and respectful look. Ell was ahead of us, examining some more of the experiments, and Dr. Collins seemed in a chatty mood.
He was wearing a white coat, and he was a man who loved his job, who couldn't believe he could get up every morning to do experiments, to study and learn and take apart the universe and put it back together and listen to it sing. He'd have done this job if he had to pay to take part in it.
"He actually said right away that the cultures in sector A6 felt off, and sure enough, when we checked, they'd been contaminated. Normally he'd only have said something through the proper channels — if he said anything at all about such a small problem. But it saved us time and wasted energy, knowing right away. I've got the correct batch already started now." He hooked his thumbs through his lab coat's pockets. "I'm so glad when he says things right away, you know. We all trust Ellery here. We're glad when he can help."
That wasn't actually true about all present, but it nearly was. There was one fellow in the corner who didn't like or trust any of us ESRB-ranked people, and always stayed as far away from us as possible; we gave him a creepy feeling. We made his skin crawl.
I was familiar with causing that feeling in people. I was almost immune to it now. The fact that one person who'd felt that way about me had been a boyfriend of mine probably hurt worse than any stranger's opinion ever could. If I could survive that, I could survive other people's unease with my very existence.
Actually, I'd been facing it longer than that. I hadn't known I was an empath when I was a child. Nobody had; it wasn't even a thing then, still in the infant stages of understanding in science. I hadn't had a name for what I did, but I'd understood there was something about me that irritated and bothered a lot of people.
When I'd piped up, "No, you didn't. You hid it in your locker!" I'd often gotten a beating for it later, pummeled by school bullies who hated me anyway for being short and loudmouthed and thinking I made a good class clown. It still wasn't enough to stop the knowledge, the wrongness of any lies.
The fact that I was so good at knowing when other people were telling the truth didn't mean I was great at it myself. Knowing I was different and faulty in some way, both so irritating that it was hard for people not to punch me, and shorter than almost anyone in every class I was ever in, and knowing I was gay at a fairly young age, I'd always worked extra hard to try to create an acceptable persona for myself.
The fact that it almost never worked hadn't stopped me from trying. And when I was older, when I'd found men who could stand to date me — and it was surprising how great it felt, to grow up pretty hot, to find myself the object of desire — I'd always, always tried to be someone they could stay for. Someone worth keeping.
Ellery, with his six-month confidence in me, his bedrock-steady assurance that we were meant to be together, was the most steady boyfriend I'd ever had in my life.
It was amazing and continually frightening. The thought of losing him was unbearable — and at the same time, I hid a lot of feelings from him because I couldn't bear to face them myself. I'd been bullied growing up, and I'd gone through the wringer a fair number of times as an adult, with unhealthy and emotionally damaging — or just painfully ending — relationships. It was probably something I should've talked about with him, or at least during our counseling sessions.
But it's in my nature to hide my pain. I was trying really hard not to push Ellery away, although I sometimes felt the urge. To see if he meant it. To see if he'd stick around. Some part of me would far rather lose him now if I had to; it would only hurt more the longer we were together and I let myself believe in his love.
So while I always recognized his pain and could often get him to talk about it, or at least let me comfort him, I rarely let him see mine. It was an issue, but not one I was ready to deal with. It was too hard being me, not driving everyone away, as I'd always been so accomplished at doing.
I was either the most annoying man in the world, or the best at self-sabotage. Perhaps my personality really was just that grating.
#
The morning after his latest nightmare, I looked at Ellery appraisingly. He seemed uneasy, and I wanted to know why. At the same time, it was important to me that I not end up badgering him. Ell was one of those soft-spoken people who can get intimidated easily. I had a much more forceful personality and always tried my best not to overpower him with it. Because I was so sensitive to his moods, it was fairly easy. But it was something I had to be aware of.
"Something wrong?" I asked, as casually as I could.
He hesitated, then shook his head. Then bit his lip. I watched him as he got dressed. He was a fine-looking man, more pretty than handsome, but very good-looking whatever you wanted to call him. He was smaller than me, which was something of a novelty. Most of my boyfriends had been bigger than me.
I never had to worry about Ell deciding it would be fun to hold something out of my reach and laugh at me if I tried to get it from him. Not that he would've, even if he could have. He was a nice guy, nice enough to never want to make anyone feel uncomfortable.
Sometimes I thought he put me to shame, he was so kind and thoughtful. But in general, I felt like he inspired me to want to be the best version of myself I could be. It was hard not to feel inspired by someone so kind-hearted and responsible.
Now I watched as he got dressed, his expression changing from troubled to doubtful to firm and back to troubled. His face was so expressive as he fought with himself, I'd have known something was amiss even if I couldn't feel it from his emotions. He was gnawing on his lip, too.
I tried to sound casual as I asked, "You sure? You seem kind of bothered about something. Was it the dream?" This would give him an out, if he really didn't want to talk about it. He did have bad dreams. I'd probably have worse ones if I'd faced the "compassionate" and "modern" mental health treatment he had.
He hadn't actually needed mental health treatment; he'd needed training and education about his gifts, not drugs and counseling that told him it was all in his head, and being put in a facility. He'd needed information about how his clairvoyance worked and what he could do — and couldn't. It was terrible that he still sometimes felt responsible when he couldn't predict everything, but his power wasn't nearly strong enough for that. It was probably fortunate for him that it wasn't; he'd probably have been drafted into some kind of high-stress government work if it had been.
Now I watched him struggle with himself about what to share with me, and I felt a growing panic I tried to keep from letting him see. I wasn't sure what was coming, what it meant, or if it hurt him to have that responsibility on his shoulders. Most of all, I felt powerless to help him.
None of his visions had ever failed to come true. Even though they didn't always mean exactly what he thought they meant, they were always literally true. And while his uneasy feelings weren't specific, they were a legitimate guide that something was wrong. Now he was having some kind of deep uneasiness, and even if it wasn't a vision (he hadn't lied to me earlier), there was something he was struggling to tell me — or not.
Finally he looked up at me, coming to a decision. He finished buttoning his shirt and faced me squarely, his clear blue gaze still troubled, but a decision reached. He would not back down now. He would tell me the truth.
I sat up, uncrossing my arms from behind my head. I was being lazy; there was nothing Kevin needed me for till later today, so why shouldn't I slouch around in my pajamas for a few more hours? More specifically, in my boxers.
"It's . . . an uneasy feeling about you," he admitted, his eyebrows quirking apologetically, a humble little tilt down to his chin. "I — I don't know what, exactly, but I feel like . . . like you're going away for now." He closed his mouth tightly, very tightly, clearly struggling not to let it tremble.
"Hey." I hopped up and went to him, and put an arm on his. "I'm—"
"It's okay." He waved me away, covering his face loosely with one hand to shield the emotions. "I'm fine. Let me finish."
I stood back, regarding him. He didn't want me to touch him now? That had never been a problem before — and I do mean never. Was he bracing himself for my "disappearance"?
That had to do with a vision of his that hadn't come true . . . yet. He was convinced I would leave someday, and that he'd be looking for me, unable to find me, desperate for me to come back. The knowledge of it tormented him sometimes. He'd interpreted the vision to mean I was going to leave him — but sometimes I wondered if it meant a kidnapping or something like that.
I couldn't imagine ever leaving Ellery. Yes, I was afraid of loving him so much, but I seemed to be doing it anyway. I was leery of trusting, but I couldn't let him go, either. And if commitment unnerved me, I was still pretty much living with the man and sharing my whole life with him.
No, I couldn't imagine giving up what we had any time soon. All of my adult life I'd hoped, longed for, and desperately wished I'd find someone who loved me for myself, who wanted to keep me forever, and who didn't get fed up with me the moment the more obnoxious sides of my personality emerged.
Ellery seemed to be that man. Although I was afraid sometimes that it wouldn't last, he'd done nothing to let me down, and had so far accepted every part of me that I'd dared show him — and some that had slipped out without my permission. He just liked me, and kept on liking me. I could always tell, and that hadn't changed.
But he was afraid I'd leave him someday, for at least a while, though he claimed we'd still be together when we were both old men. I believed it, even though I didn't let it influence me too much. I mean, if I let a vision change my choices, that might change something, right? Anyway, I didn't want to get married before I felt ready. Then it wouldn't seem real, more like a cheat, as if I was giving a vision power over the decisions that had to be real, and from the heart.
I might have been a real sleep-around guy for, well, all of my adult life, basically up till now, but that didn't mean I didn't take marriage seriously. I wouldn't get married unless I was sure. And six months, even of the best relationship in my life, and a very happy one, just wasn't enough for me to be sure . . . not sure-sure. Vision or no.
Now I looked at him, trying to read him. He looked at me with a resigned, helpless expression that also showed how much affection he held for me.
"I just hope it's not dangerous," he said softly.
My phone rang.
We both jumped a little, and he cast me a concerned look. I gave him a bug-eyed look, and then scrambled to answer it. "Hello? Who is this?" The number was unfamiliar. And then I spat, "How did you get this number?"
It was the captain, my old boss from the precinct. While I didn't think he was a bad person, that job had been a poor match for me, and we had a checkered history. I hadn't expected to hear from him like this, in my happy new life, and I didn't enjoy the surprise. I was scowling already, and reached up absently to rake fingers through my hair.
Meanwhile, Ellery had frozen like a rabbit, watching me. I had the feeling he didn't know what was going on, but he wasn't surprised. He hadn't seen me angry often. Now he was taking it in like it was important, like it mattered a lot that he understand if he could, and that he knew what I looked like angry. Was I frightening him?
"Durphy," growled the captain. "I got your number from the ESRB."
"Why?" I gripped my phone hard, not liking the memories his voice dredged up. Basically, I wasn't fit to work closely around criminals, having all their thoughts and feelings in my head while I was surrounded by distrustful, angry, and sometimes homophobic cops. I'd had no support there, and I'd gone to a dark place part of the time.
It had been a relief to escape. The guilt trips the captain had laid on me — that I should be able to handle the work — hadn't helped. Yes, he thought I'd done a good job. Maybe I had. But what good would I have been if six months down the line I committed suicide because I couldn't hack it anymore, couldn't see any other escape? It hadn't gotten that bad, but I'd been on the road there.
He took a deep breath, as if steadying himself to talk to me. I often seemed to cause that need in authority figures — better than snapping at me, I suppose. Or raking me over the coals, or telling me what a piece of worthless scum I was. Still, I hated that feeling — that I was such an inconvenience and an irritant, and so irrational. Why couldn't I shut up and fit in?
Kevin never made me feel that way. He valued my differences, and, after working with Ellery for so long, he was especially attuned to the unique mental health challenges ESRB-ranked individuals might face. He and the rest of the Group had always bent over backwards to make sure I didn't suffer from overwork or a too-stressful environment.
The police station hadn't known how to do that, or even acknowledged that it might be necessary. I got paid for the job; I needed to work. Like a part of a machine, or an automaton, something without any annoying, sensitive needs of its own.
And I hadn't been able to do that — I'd never been able to do that.
It was one reason I'd spent a couple of years working as a private investigator. Yes, the hours and the pay had sucked, but I'd been my own boss, not continually disappointing anyone or letting anyone down, or having people I answered to furious with me. Sure, I still pissed people off, but they were usually the bad guys.
Thinking about those days made me think about the man I'd gotten to know as Jeff. He'd been a friend in those days, a friend I joked with and found incredibly hot. When we'd finally slept together, it had changed things. He had disappeared from my life, and I'd tried to pretend it didn't affect me.
Then, when I met him again later, it had turned out he was an undercover cop named Damon, and he was kind of a closeted asshole — homophobic and hateful. Yes, he wanted to sleep with me, but he also liked to put me down and sneer at me for thinking it could be anything more than a fuck.
He was the sort of guy I seemed to naturally attract most of the time, honey to their bees. I guess I sent out the wrong signals, or had incredibly bad luck, or something.
But, yeah, it still hurt when I cared about someone who turned out to be like that — hating himself but taking it out on me because I'd slept with him. It was all kinds of messed up.
And I didn't appreciate the reminder. Even the captain's voice made me think of that time and how miserable I'd been. Working at the precinct didn't make my top ten of life experiences. And Damon's attitude definitely put him in the bottom ten relationships or hookups — not that there used to be all that much difference for me.
In fact, he ranked slightly worse than my hookup with the history teacher who'd been into some pretty serious kink — without a lot of warning — and had literally shoved me naked into his closet when his roommate came home early. I was tied up and gagged, and had crouched there panting and sweating for a good forty minutes in the dark, hot closet before the roommate moseyed off and the professor could be bothered to untie me and hustle me out. Suffice it to say we did not go on a second "date." I'm all for trying new things, but there's new, and there's getting thrown into the deep end.
Now I had Ellery, I reminded myself, taking a deep breath and trying to contain my angry sarcasm. Whatever the captain wanted, I could tell him no, get off the phone, and get back to my new life. I took a deep breath, too.
"Why did they give you my number?" I asked, sounding nearly calm and more or less reasonable. As I did so, I thought of another ex, a really nice guy I'd gotten to know while getting certified by the ESRB. Colin had worked there, and he was a gentle, nerdily hot, tall and slim and sexy man. We'd had great sex; he'd really liked me. This was a case where I'd probably sabotaged the relationship. I wasn't good at opening up to him, letting him see the sides of me that weren't chipper and fun. I was sinking into depression, I lashed out at him, and he ended things.
It was for the best, I think. Sometimes I still had regrets there, though. This wasn't a case where I could just call him a jerk and move on with my life. I hadn't handled everything right, that was for sure. But he hadn't exactly wanted to stick around when the going got tough. I couldn't really have that in a long-term relationship, either, even if it wasn't as bad as being shoved into a closet or treated like scum.
The captain paused before answering me, like it was a loaded question. I found myself holding my breath. I always felt slightly off-balance talking to people over the phone, or using other long-distance forms of communication. For better or for worse, my talent was a part of me. I was used to reading people — their emotions and truthfulness (or lack thereof). I wasn't really sure what to make of people long-distance. I couldn't read them from far away. I wasn't nearly that powerful.
It wasn't something I always consciously relied on, but it was always there, part of my awareness. When it wasn't working because of long-distance, it felt odd, like one of my senses was muffled — like I was wearing a blindfold. I suppose talking over the phone for me is like what everyone else has to face all the time, navigating the maze of whether or not to believe what someone's telling you. But I'm not used to it, and it's always a very weird feeling for me.
The captain cleared his throat. (Was he holding something back? Embarrassed? Actually had a sore throat?) "It's about Damon Mercer," he told me gruffly. "I know he wasn't always very nice to you, but I think you'll agree he's no murderer."
"What?" "Not very nice" could be a bit of an understatement, and my complex feelings about the man didn't like having to rise to the surface with all these reminders, but what was this . . . a murderer? Damon? Nope. Not him. He'd been pretty much a white-hat even when he was undercover. Hadn't wanted to do anything too close to the legal border.
The man I'd known might have hated himself sometimes and taken it out on me, but he had a steely core of principle when it came to his job as a cop. He wouldn't lower himself to break it . . . especially to become a murderer. I was almost certain of it.
"What's he done, or been accused of?"
"He was working undercover to capture a drug kingpin. A woman was shot and killed in the course of the investigation, and his fingerprints are all over the gun. He was present at the scene of the crime, but he swears he was framed because they found out he was a cop. The evidence is bad enough that he's currently being held without bail. I know there's little love lost between you, but surely you wouldn't want to see a police officer framed.
"He was getting close to taking down part of a dangerous drug cartel. It's a black eye for the department, as well. I contacted the ESRB and asked them to pass your information along. They needed to know why; I told them. It's all right with them if you want to fly back and check if he's telling the truth. It gives us a legal leg to stand on for search warrants and questioning other people further, for one thing."
He took a deep breath and expelled it as if bracing himself for something rough. "And if he really did the crime — at least then we'll know, and we won't waste more man hours going to extraordinary measures to exonerate him. Because right now, it would take something of a miracle to change the way things are looking for Mercer."
"Even if it goes to trial, won't a judge and jury take the word of a policeman more than the people who framed him — if they did?"
"It's in the evidence, rather than specific testimony. But, no, I see no reason they should. The victim was on drugs, and Damon had been grooming her to give testimony. Her name was Yolanda Johan. You'll likely be seeing it in the paper soon, if you haven't already. Evidence strongly suggests she found out he was a police officer, and the next day she died in a violent manner from a weapon with his fingerprints all over it.
"He was seen fleeing the scene by credible witnesses and on a security recording from a restaurant. There is . . . strong evidence. And this isn't something we could sweep under the rug even if we wanted to. On top of that, the victim is an African-American woman who had hard breaks in her life, a three-year-old son, and was extremely photogenic. I'm not saying her looks should make a difference, but it usually does when the victim is attractive. The race issues are . . . complicated, with the police's history in the city where he was working. They don't have a good track record of dealing with African-Americans . . . much less those on drugs.
"That he's technically an outsider, that he's never shown the least bit of prejudice . . . that's not going to make a difference. Any jury is going to think there was a racial element, and an element of trying to protect himself undercover. Even if he spins it as self-defense, it won't make much difference. There was no way she could have overpowered him, and she had no weapon. It's a mess."
"So someone killed this woman, a mom, and now her son has to grow up without her, right?" I snorted. "I hope he does go to jail, if he did it."
"Yes," said the captain, latching on to the words gratefully. "If he did it. If he didn't, we don't want the real killer to get away, do we? So, if you can fly down and get a quick read on him, it would help us immensely in the investigation. The department will cover your expenses, of course, and any fee the ESRB deems appropriate for this consultation."
He sounded a bit like a stuffed shirt then, but I knew him well enough to understand at least some of how he was feeling. He was definitely desperate to call on me this way — and he seemed relieved I'd at least heard him out.
"You think about it, and see if you can clear it with your boss and your schedule," said the captain, talking quickly, as though he wanted to get in more words before I could say 'no' or hang up. "Call and we'll make arrangements, if you agree. But you need to decide soon. It's a pretty time-sensitive case . . . not just for the department or Mercer, but if we want any hope of finding out who really did this."
Obviously he didn't think it could be Damon. To be honest, I didn't, either. He was the kind of guy who, if he had killed someone, he would own up to it later, not run away and try to cover it up. And not to be sexist, but especially if the victim was a woman. He had some pretty fixed ideas about gender roles and being a gentleman.
They hadn't applied to me; I was the queer guy he sometimes fucked. He was pretty homophobic. A lot of it was internalized, probably against himself — who was I to understand his dark depths? Did that mean he could also be a violent racist? I'd never gotten any hints of that off him.
Part of me almost wished I could dismiss that as being the case, so I didn't have to get involved, going back and dredging up bad memories. But the captain was right, however much I didn't want to leave my cushy new life. Someone had been killed, and because of the fishy circumstances and the involvement with a drug cartel, it was almost certainly some kind of setup, and her murderer would get away scot-free if they succeeded in having the frame-up job stick to Damon.
He didn't have to be a nice person to not be the guilty party. And the guilty party would get away with it if it wasn't him.
For a while after hanging up, I stared into the air, thinking these thoughts and others. I was dimly aware of the comforting (if curious) presence of my boyfriend, watching me, waiting, so peaceful and accepting. This was almost certainly what he'd been talking about before the call: me leaving.
And yet I didn't see how I could do otherwise.
Finally I raised my eyes, meeting his gaze. It felt like admitting I needed to go to the dentist for what would probably be a very expensive, extremely painful surgery. It shouldn't be so tough — but right then, it felt tough. I didn't want to face Damon, the precinct, or murderers' emotions yet again. I'd thought that chapter of my life was closed.
But there was a kid whose mom had been killed. And, if the captain was right, she had been killed and Damon had been framed to put a stop to an investigation into a drug cartel. It was messy — but not something I could turn my back on. I was, however little I liked it, involved now that I knew. And not just because of Damon, either.
"I think I have to go," I told Ellery.
He nodded, like he had expected no less.
#
Ellery trusted me, but I felt his worry as we said goodbye at the airport.
I'd gotten the time off from Kevin, along with a company credit card with no limit and a few phone numbers to call in case of emergency. One of them was a counselor, another someone who apparently worked in some kind of pretty intense security sector, and a third a very high-powered lawyer.
I wasn't sure exactly what kind of trouble Kev thought I'd manage to get myself into in a day or two if he wasn't watching out for me, but from his shadowy emotions on the topic, he clearly expected it to be big. Nice to know he appreciated my talent for trouble. That, or his protective nature towards me had gone into overdrive.
Ellery didn't offer to come along, and I didn't ask it of him. Oh, he'd probably have said yes, but it would be cruel of me to ask. He didn't need his balance upset for my problems, and he probably wouldn't fare even as well as I had at the precinct, if he had to be around those cops for long.
Ellery might not sense thoughts, but he was very sensitive to people's behavior, and big, tough, hostile police officers and criminals wouldn't be doing his mental and emotional health any favors. The man who struggled to get up the nerve to tell a scientist he had an uneasy feeling about a batch of cultures wasn't going to be the guy to face down a hostile precinct full of people who resented me.
He looked at me with a mixture of sadness, resignation, and love. "I trust you," he said softly. "Be safe." And then he gave me another gentle hug.
"You too," I said against his soft, flyaway hair, breathing in the scent of him. It felt like it would be the last time for a while, but I figured that was just premature homesickness. It was only a couple of days, but it was the first time we'd been apart in a while, even for that long.
The last time had been a month ago, on a trip with Kevin. We'd texted and called and Skype'd each other endlessly, even though it was only three days apart. It had felt like forever. Maybe I'd gotten addicted to curling up with my sweet-faced, gentle boyfriend. He loved me so much, it was almost addicting to be around, to feel that steady warmth from him, sometimes rising to a heated crescendo, such as when we made love.
When we'd said our goodbyes, and he drew back, blowing his nose suspiciously hard, Kev approached me to say his farewells. "Be safe," he said. Somehow it sounded different when he said it.
He drew me into a hug as well, clapping me on the back. I closed my eyes, drinking in the feeling of safety from him. Kevin was something of an anomaly in my universe; he didn't assess me against his own qualities to compare or judge me. He just accepted and liked me.
I was coming to the conclusion that Kevin really was a bit different from most people I knew, not just because he actually was an honest person, but because he didn't assess people sexually at all. It was refreshing to me. Most straight men looked at me either as competition or else (if they'd learned I was gay) as something exotic and foreign. Even if I didn't disgust them, there was an awareness about my sexuality setting us apart. It was as though, even if I wasn't competition after all, I was something to be assessed and judged and compared to.
When straight men thought I was straight, the reaction was still slightly more hostile than you'd think. I'm short, and that's enough to earn me some disdain right there. On top of that, I'm pretty damn hot.
I'm not trying to brag, but you can't be an empath and a sexually active gay man without being aware of where you rate on the sliding scale of hotness. My height weighed against me for most people, but even so, when I could walk into any gay bar and have my pick of men nine times out of ten, I couldn't pretend to be average or mediocre in the looks department, could I? I had a good-looking face and a fit, hot body with some visually pleasing muscle definition.
The majority of straight guys instinctively bristled against my good looks, feeling that girls probably went for "a guy like that" rather than "a real man." Knowing I was gay didn't always change that bristling reaction, although it happened for different reasons depending on the guy.
Kevin didn't feel that way about me. He assessed me on other qualities. While he liked me, and even liked my face, he never assessed me sexually, either as someone to be desired or as competition. It made him comforting to be around, as I'd been hyperaware of the push and pull of sexual desire and competition for as long as I could remember being sexually aware at all.
Kevin existed on a different level, and sometimes I thought a nicer one, although it did make him blind to things sometimes. On the occasions when I had to tell him some detail about people's feelings on that matter — only related to what might affect his business dealings, not to pry into people's personal business — he was always initially surprised. That was followed by quick acceptance, and he never doubted my word. But I got the feeling it was something he didn't truly understand from the inside.
It had taken a while, but I'd finally figured out my boss was almost certainly asexual. I didn't ask him about it; I figured if he ever wanted to tell me, he would. It might not be something he thought about himself, and I didn't want to try to force him to label himself. But that was my read on him.
Of all the things I loved about him — his protectiveness, his honesty, his take-charge nature tempered by kindness — that was one of the biggest. He didn't look at me sexually or feel threatened by me. He just accepted and liked me for other reasons, nothing to do with my looks or what I might be able to do for him in bed.
At the same time, it made me laugh on the inside whenever I was reminded that no one else could tell that. Since Kev and I were close, since he would hug me without shame or hiding it, there were people who assumed we were having sex. I don't know if those people refused to accept that I was in a relationship with Ellery, and that my boss and I had a close professional relationship as well as a friendship, or if they thought I slept with anybody who smiled at me.
But to be fair, Kevin hadn't thought to dispel the rumors proactively the way a straight man would. He didn't do the tough guy hug; if he wanted to hug me, he wasn't ashamed of it. If he smiled at me, it was pure and honest and not couched behind frat-boy humor.
And perhaps most importantly of all, he was very protective of me, and possessive in his own way. If he didn't want to have sex with me, he also didn't want me working for any other company, or getting hurt by anyone, or doing anything that would take me away from him for too long. He relied on me professionally and liked having me around for every important business meeting, deal, or inspection. I was his right-hand man, and he treasured me. Plus he'd said more than once that I was his — without being self-conscious about how others took it, or even seeming to realize.
Despite the way he missed things on the level of sexual attraction and interest, he was very savvy about almost everything else. It was hard to get one over on Kevin Goodwin. It made me feel very safe with him, I must admit. I knew Kev would always take care of me and help me if he could.
It was the sort of cozy feeling you might have about an older sibling, if they'd always been kind to you and looked out for you. I wouldn't know; I was an only child, but it was something I could imagine quite well. I'd dated more than one big, strong, confident man with the desire to feel safe and protected, whether I'd admitted it to myself or not. Now I had that loyalty from a man who didn't want anything in return and wasn't ever going to feel differently about me. I was lucky. His protectiveness was uncomplicated by other things. He would have felt that way about me even if I quit working for him.
As he hugged me goodbye, a warm, tight, loving hug, I felt assessing stares on us as people at the airport wondered what our relationship was and judged us both in various ways. But I didn't care. People judged; it was what they did. I just hugged him back, as hard as I could, and breathed.
"You'll be fine," said Kev, drawing back and looking at me, reaching up to thread fingers into my hair, reassuring me in a way he knew I responded to, although he probably didn't know how much I really did love fingers in my hair (and would never know, because from others it turned me on). "And if you're not, come right back home."
Home. It was home, now, with Kev and Ellery and the safety of The Shardwell Group's comfortable, safe building, with its plant room and gym and wonderful food and respectful scientists.
I hoped it always would be home.
#
The captain himself met me at the airport, which made me feel deeply uneasy. He was an important and busy guy. For him to make the effort to meet me in person either meant he couldn't trust anyone else not to piss me off — not that we had a great track record there with each other, either — or else it was so important he didn't dare entrust me to anyone else.
I looked at his face curiously as he drew closer. Did he think I was too much of a bigwig now, and would insist on special treatment? He looked worried, but I didn't get a sense of anything else. Then as he got within a few steps of me I sensed his feelings. They were pretty intense, a swirling mass of conflicted worry.
The case was getting to him — so many variables. He was unhappy about being responsible for Mercer, for getting this egg dropped in his lap to clean up. But at the same time, he was determined to do his best. It was his job to find out the truth and see justice done. He didn't think Mercer had done it — but he also didn't want to think it, and he knew better than to believe something just because he wanted to believe it, or vice versa. He'd been a cop too long, and a good one.
I was relieved by all these things he was feeling, but then there was more. When I stepped forward to shake his hand, smiling a little, he felt another spike of concern — about me.
"Durphy." He shook my hand. He towered over me, as most cops do — including Damon Mercer. "Uh . . . hello again. You're looking well."
There was something he wanted to tell me. But I didn't want to rush him and unnerve him, or end up in a snarky pissing contest. "Thanks. I have a nice boyfriend and the job's going well."
He blinked, but that apparently wasn't enough to anger him. He just nodded. His brow seemed more furrowed than back when I used to work with him, and that was pretty fast to age — it had been less than a year since I was there — so I guessed this case was really weighing on him.
Enough chat. "So, tell me about the case," I said as we fell into step together. Like most tall, aggressive people, especially those in law enforcement, he had no notion of shortening his walk to match someone else's. I had to jog to keep up with him.
He carried one of my bags like it weighed nothing. The man had twenty or thirty years on me easily, and I worked out constantly, but he could still make me feel inadequate when it came to strength. Even seated behind his desk, he was tough. Here he seemed massive and tireless.
"Case? It's more than a case. It's a black eye for every officer in the department — bad if he's innocent, and worse if he's guilty." He shook his head, scowling.
"Well, share with me." I was not panting — definitely not. It was just hard to juggle my remaining bags while jogging to keep up and talking at the same time.
"No. I've told you more than I was supposed to already. Internal Affairs has had a word. You have to speak to one of them first to be sure you're not too biased to be involved in the questioning."
I stopped suddenly. "What?" I'd never talked to IA, and I'd never really been a cop, but my time in the department had given me a share of cops' instinctive fear of IA. Many of the guys I'd worked around had thought they were corrupt and out to make the department look bad, wasting time, punishing good cops, etc.
Of course, they'd also thought I wanted to rifle around through their thoughts, and they were certainly wrong about that. Some of the guys were pretty bigoted. Maybe they were wrong about IA too. I got myself under control from the first surprise and nodded.
"Any special reason?"
He glanced at me. "Yes."
I felt it then, and blinked hard. It was a complex mix of emotions rolling off him strongly. But the strongest was guilt and regret. He felt responsible for something . . . something that happened between me and Mercer . . . where I'd been hurt.
Old news. I rolled my eyes. "It's really not a problem," I insisted. "I can do my job without being biased."
"Well, tell that to IA and we're golden," he growled, feeling angry with himself more than with me. He was responsible for his department and anyone who worked there, even part-time like the whiz-kid undercover genius Mercer.
There was enough evidence from things the other cops had seen that the captain knew Mercer had been ragging on me more than once. I hadn't admitted anything, and I doubted Damon had, either, but the fact was we'd had sex, he'd hated me, and it had made life tough sometimes, especially when he went out of his way to show me. Still, I wasn't about to dwell on that past when I had such a good life now, and I certainly wasn't going to use my abilities to hurt him — like by faking a reading I wasn't getting.
I wouldn't risk my career over something like that, and more than that, I wouldn't want to. If I wanted to hurt someone, I wouldn't help a drug dealer frame them for murder. It would be beneath me, and would hurt too many other people in the process. Besides, being jilted and insulted wasn't enough to make me wish a murder charge on someone.
At the station, a few folks gave me smiles or cautious nods of greeting. Most of them stayed out of my way. Nobody seemed super happy at the station today. It was a pretty big thing that was happening here. It wasn't really about me, but my presence didn't make things more fun for most of these guys. Let's face it, I wasn't exactly Mr. Popular.
The captain ushered me in to talk to an Internal Affairs officer and left us to it. His feelings were dour and grim — and again, that guilt lay on him. He seemed to have the feeling Mercer had actually hurt me or gay-bashed me or assaulted me or something. Nope, I wanted to tell him, just my feelings. But it was such a complicated thing, and my natural instinct was to hide everything about the relationship from those in authority.
Even if we weren't friends anymore — maybe hadn't ever been, if he could turn on me that way — I didn't want to out the guy. He might not be gay; he might be bi, pan, searching, or something else. But he sure was good at gay sex, and he sure did have some conflicted feelings about that. He'd taken some of those out on me, but I was basically over it.
At least I hoped I was. I'd have to see him again real soon.
The IA officer was at least as dour as the captain, but without the level of personal anxiety. He wasn't having the best day ever, and didn't like his job very much. I thought I'd gotten better at reading nuances like this recently.
Perhaps having Kev listen so carefully to all my impressions and take them seriously had made me take them more seriously, too. If I sensed something, I paid attention — and I listened harder now, too. It had become a habit, to pay attention to everyone I was around instead of trying to shut them out.
Kevin and Erin and the others at The Shardwell Group had worked tirelessly to make sure I was in a safe, almost cocooned environment, and even when I was working, I wasn't surrounded by extreme hostility most of the time. It felt safer to open myself up as much as I could, these days. I was still doing it — although I had a feeling that if I'd tried to come back here to work, I'd have managed to break the habit real quick if I didn't want to be curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth. Nothing about this work environment had been particularly safe for me.
"We need to go over a few details here," said the officer, in the droning sort of voice that used to make me want to fall asleep in class. Or start twitching, or doing crazy things to get attention and keep myself from going mad.
He shuffled papers, looked at them, and read a few things off. I kept my answers as short as possible. Yes, Damon had spoken roughly to me more than once. Yes, we'd met in the past, while he was undercover. I'd considered him a friend, but we'd had a falling out. No, he had never assaulted me. I did not think my ability to be in this situation was compromised, and I did not hold a personal grudge.
"I'll be very professional," I promised.
The officer nodded, filled out a few forms, had me repeat a few answers for the record, and then sign three papers. He filed them and told me I was cleared to proceed. I had the feeling there was some ass-covering going on here. If they'd had access to another empath, they'd no doubt have used him or her to keep things aboveboard, but I was the one they had, and really, I wasn't so very compromised against Damon.
The fact that we'd had sex? I didn't share that. I was pretty sure I'd go to my grave without sharing that information with the precinct. And that Damon Mercer would, too — the guy I'd been falling for, loved as a friend, wanted as a boyfriend, and had eventually hurt over as nothing more than a one-night stand and someone who didn't like or respect me at all in the end.
But it was nothing new in my life, and I wouldn't hold it against him. A lot of people ended up hating me, and for less screwed-up reasons than a personal problem with the fact that they were attracted to men.
After all, it was better to be hated because I was strangely irresistible than because I was such an annoying fucker.
#
The captain led me to my regular spot behind the two-way mirror outside an interrogation room. I would be able to "listen" from here without compromising the interview with my presence — or having to deal with face-to-face hostility, as had happened in the past when I was in the same room as the questioning officer. Having them look to me to see whether the prisoner was answering truthfully had been a real problem. It was distracting, had earned me some serious irritation and hostility, and it never didn't interrupt. It was far better if I watched from the outside, noting my readings to another officer, who could mark down or record my observations on the truthfulness of the interviewee. The record could then be gone over later without interrupting the interview at all.
Now we did the same thing, with the captain in the same room as me. Another officer — an IA guy, I thought, but wasn't sure — went through some questions for Mercer in a bored manner.
Damon looked sadder, older, and he felt very, very tired. I saw lines where I hadn't before. He slouched when he sat, as if he was giving up. But he was still a strong, handsome, vital man, even so diminished. I hated to see him like this, a lion shorn of its mane, now being treated like a bad guy instead of catching them.
Damon, my old Jeff, was feeling discomfort, resignation, and deep grief. He was not surprised to be here, or that he was taking the fall for the woman's murder. His feelings about her were the most complicated of all, and I found myself hesitating more and more, searching for words as I tried to read what was going on, to put it into a way to tell the captain.
It pretty soon became apparent that I couldn't, not without saying something Damon would rather I didn't.
But I had to do my job. And I had to save his life and help the cops catch a murderer.
I looked at the captain, feeling torn, wishing he could help. Wishing I could trust him with what I was getting off Mercer. My old friend, my new enemy — and the man taking a fall for someone else.
"Spit it out," growled the captain. "I can tell you're getting something good." He glared at me, hostility rolling off him. I got the strong impression he'd have liked to backhand me across the face to get my attention and make me stop stalling.
I straightened up automatically, to take the blow if I had to. If you're my size, you learn pretty early never to flinch, even if you can see the blow coming. But it was a passing feeling; the captain didn't intend to hit me. His hand didn't even twitch.
"Come on," he said, more gently now. I got the feeling he was reminding himself how fragile I could be. Not because I was small, and gay, but because I always felt things so strongly and they could become too much for me. He hadn't been that sympathetic in the past; he must've had time to think about it, and had gained some empathy himself for how it felt, being bombarded with intense, private, and often violent emotions.
"Uh . . . it's complicated," I told the captain. "Can we sit down, and I'll try to go over it? The thing my new boss does is, he just lets me talk, and talk, and get it out however I can, and then we go over it and he asks me to clarify things." I looked at him.
He gave a tight nod. "We can go back to my office, if you want."
"Good."
We went; we sat. He was trying very hard to be patient, steepling his fingers together on his desk as I began.
"He didn't kill her," I said.
The captain stopped holding his breath, very slowly letting it out. "But?"
"But he knows something; he's being less than honest. He's feeling conflicted about it." I looked at him helplessly. "The victim was someone he cared about. Someone he was trying to get to testify, and earn her trust. He . . . he didn't want to hurt her, but his feelings were . . . complex."
"Spit it out," said the captain. "Or do I have to threaten you?"
I smiled at the thought. Kev would have a field day if he did.
"Cap, I don't know how to say it. Can you just listen?"
He blinked, startled. I realized after a second why that was. I'd never called him Cap before. It was far more of a friendly nickname than I'd ever used in the past, or ever would've considered using at all. It had slipped out, but it impressed him enough to stay silent and nod for me to continue.
"He . . . tried to . . ." How to put it delicately? "Tried to date her. It . . ." I licked my lips and shifted in my seat, looking away. "She was very pretty, and she liked him. Even in his undercover role, he seemed like a good man to her, one of the best she knew, and she liked him — liked him a lot. Uh, physically. That was his impression. Thought he'd even be a good stepfather for her son, maybe. But . . . it . . . wasn't that easy for Jeff — I mean Damon."
I hesitated again. "Because he didn't find her attractive, and, uh, he kept trying, but it was . . . he couldn't fake it very well. It was interfering with earning her trust. She was starting to resent him. He thought she might've talked to someone because of it. Because she felt . . . jilted? Unwanted?"
"Hold on," said the captain, raising his big hands placatingly. "How are you getting all of this? We didn't ask him any of those questions. Are you saying they engaged in a sexual relationship while he was undercover?" He felt disapproval, along with resignation. What a sleazy world undercover cops sometimes lived in — but Damon shouldn't have led on a woman wanting to find a man to love her and be a stepfather to her son.
The captain was a family man. Although he kept his loved ones out of his thoughts and emotions as much as he could at work, so they didn't interfere with his being a hard-ass, he cared a lot about his family, and family in general.
I tried to explain better. "He has strong feelings about the whole thing, and a lot of it came through while he was being questioned. He was sort of in a sexual relationship with her."
The captain stared at me, not understanding.
Other things I'd gotten? Regret. Personal doubt. Lots and lots of angst about his inability to perform. He could recognize she was beautiful, tell himself he wanted her . . . but when it came down to it, he didn't. He'd enjoyed jacking off to gay porn, or doing something else he felt guilty about, instead of being with her. And I'd gotten the distinct impression that she'd caught him at whatever it was.
I was pretty sure it was gay porn, from the feelings he'd had. The same dark, twisty, guilty and angry feelings he'd had about being with me.
About wanting a man.
I put my face in my hands and scrubbed it, groaning. How could I put this into words without outing him? I was going to give myself an ulcer if this got any more twisty and complicated.
And it did. I hadn't even gotten to the worst part of it yet.
"Can I say something off the record? You can decide how important it is later," I added quickly as he was starting to say no. "If it's really important . . . I guess it can't stay a secret." I shrugged.
He gave me a hard look, then nodded tightly. His whole body seemed clenched, leaning forward, listening hard, filled with dread.
"Pretty sure he's not interested in women," I said. "And that interfered with, ah . . . things."
The captain blinked. "How sure?"
"Pretty damned sure." I gave him an apologetic grimace, ducking my head. My cheeks felt hot.
The captain stared at me, utterly startled, seeing something I didn't like him to see about me.
"Off the record," he said slowly. "Were you and Mercer . . . ?" He registered disgust — but at least it wasn't with me. It was with Damon, fucking me and then being angry with me, like I had tempted him into it. Hating me because he'd wanted me, at least once.
"I'd prefer not to answer that."
He gave a slow nod. "Okay. So, off the record still, you'd say it's pretty clear that Mercer, uh, has an orientation problem. He hasn't come to terms with it, but he has certain . . . inclinations."
I grinned at the wording, but nodded quickly. I couldn't have put it any better, I supposed.
"And this interfered with the relationship with Yolanda," he said, musing.
"Yeah." I drummed my fingers on my thighs, unable to sit still, wanting to look anywhere but at the captain's face. He understood things a little too well now, and frankly, my "relationship" with Damon was still a sore spot I didn't like having probed, like a bad tooth.
"All right," he said very quietly. "Is there anything else?"
I hated that suddenly gentle tone to his voice, and the way he was feeling. Damn, I hate pity.
I looked up and glared at him. "Yeah. There is, actually. And I'm not sure how to say that, either, so give me a chance, all right?"
"I'll be patient. Don't make me pry it out of you, though. Just tell me in your own time."
In your own words, officer. Hah. I snorted bitterly. It was still hard working with cops, and this wasn't even work — not really. I certainly wouldn't accept any payment for it. "He knows something," I said quietly. "But . . . I couldn't get a better read on it than that. He knows something — something he doesn't want to tell. It felt like he was protecting someone, or confused about something, or . . . or just messed up about the whole thing. Like, as sad as it made him knowing Yolanda was dead and he couldn't protect her after all, it would be worse if he told what he knew — or suspected. Like, all this trouble and pain and suspicion about himself — even maybe going to jail if it's not sorted out — all of that is still better than the truth." I looked at him helplessly. "But how could that be? It didn't make any sense. But those were the vibes I got from him."
The captain tapped his fingertips against each other. Thoughts ran through his head, mechanical and well-arranged. He really was a very smart man.
I suddenly missed my boyfriend and Kevin very much. Kev, who was the easiest boss in the world to work for, because although he expected a lot from me, he always believed in me and supported me and really liked me, wholeheartedly and unreservedly. And I missed Ellery with a pang of heartsickness I hadn't expected. I knew I liked him, I knew I hadn't wanted to be parted from him, but it still caught me by surprise to feel this way.
Ellery was the one person in all the world who never seemed to get fed up with me. He really liked me, and he didn't think I was stupid and annoying for my restless, loud-mouthed nature. He appreciated my good points and seemed to accept my flaws philosophically — and sometimes, he didn't even realize they were flaws.
Because I could sense people's feelings about me, I suppose it made me more affected by criticism and unpleasant feelings aimed at me. But Ell didn't get like that. He liked me. He just really liked me. Whether we were hanging out in the weight room sculpting our abs, or cuddling up in bed — or doing more intimate things. Even if we were just laughing over a movie, or taking a stroll together on Ell's rounds.
I didn't know why I was missing him so much all of a sudden, since I wouldn't have been able to be with him right now anyway, even if he'd come with me. Not that I'd have wished the police station on him just so he'd be nearby. It would've been really selfish of me to do that. He'd had enough hostility in his life.
Still, all of a sudden, and for no reason I could understand, I really, really wanted his hand in mine, nestled safely there, reassuring me. If he was sitting here beside me, the captain couldn't think I was an idiot. Not even for a second — nobody could be, if they'd captured the attention and love of such a good, gentle, and cute man as Ellery.
Ell was many things I hadn't thought I wanted in a boyfriend. He had big, soft blue eyes — I'd always been partial to dark eyes. He was shorter than I was, slender and a bit anxious, and not at all huge and gruff. But somehow he was perfect anyway.
He loved me. He liked me, which mattered just as much. And we had amazing sex together. Sometimes I tried to convince myself it wouldn't break my heart into a million pieces if our relationship didn't work. I'm not sure I ever succeeded.
At those times, I was most tempted to put my trust in his visions. But I was ashamed of myself when I felt that way. I couldn't let my life be ruled by that kind of thing, even from Ellery. He didn't have the world's strongest talent, and even true dreams and impressions weren't always clearly interpretable until after the fact — a not totally uncommon thing for clairs, as I understood it, and something that's frustrated humans throughout history. I wanted the relationship to work, and I wanted to take any comfort for the future that I could, however true (or not) it turned out to be. But I was ashamed of myself for wanting that. It had to work for real.
It had to be real. For once in my life, I really wanted to show up and do the work and be an honest version of myself, not trying to change to please him, not trying to trick him into staying with me. But I still wanted to change enough that I could be a good boyfriend long-term, and I did want him to stay. It was a complicated way of feeling, so many different things at once, and wanting almost more than I could bear. It felt too important to not think about — yet thinking about it didn't fix anything, just let me stew in my own worries.
The captain looked at me, and I realized I'd missed something. His thoughts had been ticking away so professionally on the subject at hand, and I'd been mooning over Ellery. I gave myself a little shake and looked at him. "Yes?"
"Can't you pay attention? Who was he protecting?"
I could only stare at him. Had he never met me before? "Of course I can't. And how would I know? You have to ask the questions. I can only tell if he's saying what's true, or hiding something. Other than that it's all impressions. I can't reach into his head and pry thoughts out."
The captain eyed me with frustration. "You've gotten so much better since you were here. All right, suppose I take over the questioning. You keep watch and we'll see if we can get any closer."
It was a good theory, but the reality ended up with him and Damon having a questioning that drew on longer and longer, with both of them getting harried and angry and short-tempered, and nothing leading to a smoking gun for me to point out. The longer it ran, the more restless and weird I got. I went from jiggling my foot a little, thumping my thighs as if they were bass drums, to pacing the room with restless energy, like a caged lion. I swung my arms; I practiced dance steps. I muttered, twiddling my fingers against my thighs. I leaned against the two-way mirror and sighed loudly.
All the while I kept giving my evidence to the clerk who was taking it down, but was growing progressively more alarmed by my restless behavior. Well, I wasn't good at being still while trapped in a hostile environment. And what were they going to do, put me in detention? It was act like this or throw up my arms, shout at someone, and walk out. And I did want to help — I did. But it was getting ridiculous, after the third hour of questioning.
I think the captain would have kept going — he was a tireless fucker — but after a while, I started thumping my head against the mirror rhythmically, once every few breaths, and I guess it was louder than I realized.
"Sir," began the officer awkwardly, cringing. At the same time, the captain and then Damon looked up at the mirror. The captain scowled. Damon sat up straighter, as if he'd suddenly realized something. A thought had occurred to him; it seemed to have to do with me. Not as dumb as you look, bozo, I thought angrily.
If he felt anything more sophisticated than that, I couldn't tell. I couldn't get much of an impression about anything else over the captain's sudden rage, incandescent and aimed all at me. It wasn't all about me, but it was aimed at me.
"Terminating the interview, at . . ." He glanced at the clock, snapped off the last few words in a harsh voice, and then scraped his chair back.
The officer who'd been taking down my evidence was nervous. I headed for the door. If it was over, I didn't have to wait to talk to the captain; I didn't have to be trapped in here anymore.
"Durphy," snapped the captain, heading towards me as I headed towards the front door.
"Your officer took down my evidence." I waved a hand back to the little tomb. "See ya. I gotta get out of here."
"You will wait and talk to me like a civilized human being." He caught my arm, not too gently. I was driving him crazy. But frankly, I was about to explode too. I could not be trapped anywhere for a moment longer.
I glared at him. No way was I making a scene in the middle of the place, but he was doing a good job. I glared — but he caught my drift and let me go, glancing around quickly, and then put a hand in the middle of my back and ushered me none too gently into his office. "Did you get anything useful, beyond what the officer recorded?"
"No!" I exploded. "And you sure took long enough."
"I'm sorry justice doesn't move fast enough for you." He was gritting his teeth. "You're acting like a spoiled child."
"Like I've never heard that before." I rolled my eyes. "Look, I've got to get out of here. I don't know how you can stand to sit still for so long. You need to find some new questions, because you're not getting anywhere. And, yes, that's all I can tell you. I swear, if you try to make me stay here a second longer, something's going to blow!"
He didn't try to stop me this time. I moved fast towards the door, stopping only to grab my leather jacket and yank it off a hook. All eyes were on me.
That's me. Love a dramatic exit.
Feeling hard and mean under their judgmental stares — making up their minds about me without knowing what was going on at all — I lost my temper. I turned to them and raised my arms wide.
"Gentlemen — ladies — fuzz. It's been fucking real."
Then I swept a low, sarcastic bow, swung the jacket over my shoulder, and sashayed the hell out of there.
Just as I was leaving — the whole room silent, watching me, incensed with my daring — an officer led the Damon out of the interrogation room and back towards his cell. Damon caught a glimpse of me and, for a moment, stopped walking.
The emotion I felt from him, drifting in my direction as I left, the last emotion from the precinct, was his hopeless want. To him, in that moment, I seemed vital, alive, and impossibly sexy. He didn't resent me being here; he didn't have the energy to resent me and hate me anymore. All he was left with was that old, awful want that had so tormented him. I was the thing he couldn't resist, the habit he couldn't kick, as much as he wished he could.
Well, I'm not yours anymore, buddy boy, so dream and toss and turn and feel guilty about whatever you're hiding, because I just don't care anymore.
I don't care.
#
I was too mad to go to a hotel, or fly back home, or do anything but hop into the first cab I could find and head to Klub F.U., my favorite place in the city for dancing. I needed to work off some of this steam.
As soon as I got there, paid the cover, and slipped inside, I took over the dance floor. Not to brag, but I'm a pretty good dancer. Right now, I was angry-dancing, throwing myself into the music and working off some of my mad.
I danced as hard and as well as I could, and at last, I started to feel a little more human. The concentration and energy required were just what I needed to get rid of the restless, awful feeling of being trapped.
Here, the emotions were far from negative. I was able to feed off the pleasant feelings of people having a night out. Most of them were here to enjoy themselves, and most of them were doing a good job of it.
I was also a center of attention, as more than one person either wanted to watch me dance or wanted to dance with me. I liked that; I always had. It was enjoyable for me.
For the first time, I wondered if even that had something to do with my talent. The negatives of being in a classroom setting or any other place where you were supposed to be still and quiet were very hard for me to navigate. Every day in school had been like purgatory.
Was part of it not just my ADHD tendencies, but also the very nature of my talent? I couldn't get away from the negative, oppressive atmosphere — and I felt it more than other people did — so I'd tried to change it by acting out.
Let's face it, even if a teacher ends up hating you, the mood of the room is usually lightened quite a bit by one student acting out. It pulls the attention off of other kids, for one thing. It gives restless energy an outlet, and sometimes provides a laugh. I'd probably been feeding off that attention and laughter to feel less horrible in a stifling, negative room full of bored and hostile kids. I'd probably been doing it for far longer than I'd had any idea I might be different from the other kids.
When I got older, it was the same way with clubbing. I was attractive and I knew it, because I could feel the admiration reflected back at me. I liked dancing and dressing up (or down) and being the cute, hot guy everyone admired. It made me feel better about myself, and provided instant relief from job and life stress. Also, it was okay to move — it was good to move. Restless energy was a gift on the dance floor, because it meant you could keep going and going, being creative and expressive with your body, dancing on into the wee hours.
Tonight was full of revelations. I wondered if the captain was furious at me or if he'd be over it by the morning. I wondered what the precinct was talking about now that I'd gone. I wondered, very briefly, what it would be like if Damon was dancing here with me, instead of in a jail cell and not even willing to accept the fact that he found me attractive.
He was a mess, and clearly involved in something bad, if he wasn't telling the captain the whole truth about what he suspected or knew.
He was holding out on a murder investigation; he was homophobic and dangerous — and I still couldn't hate him. He hated himself enough for all of us.
I was still thinking about him sadly when another man stepped in to dance with me, touching my side with the easy intimacy we'd once shared. I blinked into Angel's dark, sweet eyes, still familiar even after a long time apart.
He'd broken my heart, and he wasn't anywhere near as unpleasant as Damon. He'd just been scared of my talent, and hadn't wanted to see me anymore.
Gorgeous Angel, with his uncomplicated love of sex and time spent with me, and the sweet, honest nature that was as much a part of him as breathing. He looked into my face now as if he was checking to see if I was all right. We'd never talked much while we were dating — or whatever it had been — but we'd both preferred it that way. We'd communicated with a look, a touch, a smile — not raking our souls over the coals with endless words and rehashing. Yeah, we probably both had some painful things in our past. All the more reason to enjoy and relish the present.
Now he was asking me if I was okay. If he'd asked me that a while ago, I'd have wanted to tell him, "No, because you broke my heart."
But I had Ellery now; the pain had eased a great deal. I didn't think about Angel with the sharp pang of hurt that I'd had for a long time. Now he was a somewhat bittersweet, sad memory.
So I gave him a smile. "Just thinking." I pulled him closer into the dance, relishing this moment. We were both good dancers, short, lithe, and of muscular build. We matched pretty nicely and looked great together. I enjoyed the feel of everyone watching.
When the song ended, he touched my arm and nodded to a booth. I followed him. I could feel concern rolling off him, and I waited to hear what he was worried about.
"You looked so sad," he said, searching my face again. "Are you sure you're okay? I didn't see you here. I worried."
Oh, Angel. No, I didn't do something stupid just because you broke up with me.
I put a hand impulsively over his wrist and squeezed gently. "No, it's work stuff. And I really was thinking. I have a good job now, and things are going well. I'm doing fine. How are you?"
He didn't quite look like he believed me, but he let me change the subject. He shrugged. "Work is work — when it's there, you're too busy, but when it's gone, you miss it."
"Did something happen?"
"The landscaping company let me go." He shrugged, trying to be philosophical. "Once the construction season starts, I'll be okay. There's always jobs then. It's these winter months that are hard."
I couldn't tell from looking at him, or feel any surface emotions, if he was struggling or not, but I had the feeling it would take almost starving to death before he felt he was in any real hardship. Angel had a great deal of toughness beneath his gentle nature. He wasn't easily swayed, and didn't easily give in. Challenges were a part of life for him, but it was still something he mostly enjoyed. While he could eat, sleep, laugh, and dance, life was good — even if he was almost broke and trying to make every penny stretch.
"You need a loan? I'm doing pretty well in the new job. It wouldn't be a hardship."
He hesitated. "Ah, no. No. It's good to see you, though. I'm glad." He touched my arm again and smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, too. For being frightened of you."
Typical Angel — when he did speak, it was always honest.
I shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. "I think I'm going to dance some more. It was good seeing you."
"Yes. You also." He drank me in with his eyes while I headed back out.
Should I have asked him if he wanted to eat or something? But I didn't want to talk about old times; I wanted to dance. All the same, I didn't like to think of him struggling financially. Angel was one of the hardest-working guys I'd ever met, but he came from a poor family who couldn't help him out much, even if they had wanted to, now that he was out.
He hadn't had a lot of breaks in life, aside from having a lovely personality and being one of the most gorgeous men I'd ever met. With his looks, he wouldn't have any trouble getting a job in the adult film industry. And he loved sex. Maybe he'd find a job there.
But I didn't want him to. Not, I hoped, from any weird, entitled jealousy, but because I'd hate for that gorgeous, sensual man to have to view his body as a commodity for survival. He was so wonderful the way he was, free and honest. To take something he loved and make it into an act, a thing to do for money, would be repugnant. At least to me, someone who'd known and loved him when he was still so fresh and honest and lovely.
I'd find a way to get him some money to tide him over, I decided. No way was my Angel — even though he wasn't mine anymore, maybe never had been mine to begin with — going to suffer while I had more than enough.
#
When I was ready to go, I took a cab to the nearest hotel, got a room, and took a hot, steamy shower. It had been a long time since I'd jacked off in the shower. I'd gotten spoiled, spending so much time with Ellery. He was a great boyfriend, and we had a lot of sex. When I had to be away from him, working with Kev, I was often in contact with him anyway. Phone sex and Skype sex tided us over, if we weren't both too tired to bother.
But tonight I let the feelings all come out in the shower, like the old days. I didn't want intimacy, I didn't want comfort. I wanted the hard, hot relief of jacking off almost painfully under the water, taking away more of my tension. The lust from the crowd, the jostling feelings of want and need that had reached me at the club — some aimed at me, plenty that weren't — affected me as well.
At last I was done, and sore and wrung out, and standing panting under the hot shower, wanting it to loosen my sore muscles. I'd danced hard, and more than that, I'd been wound tight with tension all day. It felt good to finally be too tired to think much.
And now I did want Ellery. I missed him, his gentle comfort. He wouldn't have made me talk about today. He'd have taken one look at my face, if he was here, and given me a cuddle and something nice to eat or drink. We'd have watched something on TV, and if I wanted to complain, he'd listen, but he'd be just as happy holding on to me, gently rubbing my back.
Ellery was one man I was never ashamed to take comfort from. He was so good at giving it and accepting it without shame. It made me feel safe with him.
But I still wasn't good at talking about things that were bothering me, and I didn't expect that was ever going to change. So when I checked my phone, it was with reluctance and no plans to call anyone back.
Sure enough, there were four missed calls. The first two were from the captain, the third from a number I didn't know, and the fourth was Ellery.
Ell.
I wanted him so badly now. As I stumbled into bed, knowing I'd be able to sleep well because I was so exhausted, but also feeling a loneliness that was almost knife-sharp and terribly painful, I pressed the button to return his call. I couldn't help it; I needed my Ell.
I felt weak for needing him, but really, wasn't it pretty normal? We were boyfriends, committed lovers, and were hoping — even planning — to spend the rest of our lives together. I was supposed to miss him, wasn't I?
"Peter?" asked Ell's voice at the other end of the line. He sounded worried.
"That's me. How are you, Ell?" I sounded lonely and sad even to my own ears.
"I don't like you being there," he admitted. "I get worried. That place brings you so low."
"It does," I agreed. "But how do you know?"
"Every time you talk about it, your face . . ." His voice trailed off. "I worry," he said humbly.
"I saw my ex today," I said.
"Damon?" He sounded totally confused by that, that I would consider the man an ex.
"No, it was Angel. Did I tell you about Angel?" I hadn't. Not really. "He's a nice guy, but it didn't work out." There was no need to share that it was my ability that had turned him against me. That he'd felt like I was a monster for knowing so much about people.
Ellery said nothing.
"Anyway, I saw him today. I went dancing. I think he needs money, although he'd never admit it, I'm sure." I sighed. "Maybe because I have money now, I think I can solve everything with it. It wasn't fun today. I had to get out and dance. I could only help so much, and they're all the same as they used to be, judging me and looking down on me, expecting more than I can do or give."
I sighed. I really had been feeling crappy because of it, and Ellery was right: I'd been deeply unhappy working at the precinct.
"Are you getting depressed or . . . anything?" asked Ellery cautiously. "Because that would certainly be enough of a reason to come home early. You could contact the ESRB and let them know you've done what you can."
I thought about it. "I don't want to wimp out. I think I can stand it for one more day."
"Okay," said Ellery, his voice sounding very soft and tenuous over the distance between us. I wished we were closer, so I could tell how he was feeling. He sounded sad — almost resigned. "Do you, um . . . Would you—"
"What? Go ahead."
"Want me to fly down to join you?"
I thought about it. "Dunno. It's a big effort for a little time. I'll be home soon, anyway."
"I'd like to help," he said quietly.
"Do you think you could?" What good would he be in a police station?
He said nothing.
"Ell? Did you mean about the case?"
"Oh. No. I meant, help you. Just . . . support you, the way you always do for me." He sounded like he was coming down with a cold or something. He sniffed. "Can I do that? Will you let me do that?"
Now I felt flattered, awed, and lucky. "If you're sure you're okay with it, then yes, I'd love to have you here. It's been difficult. I really miss you tonight."
"Oh. Good."
"Good?! Hmph!"
He laughed awkwardly, a quiet, sweet little sound. I loved his laugh, in all its incarnations. "You know what I mean. If you weren't missing me — if you were regretting that other guy, Angel, or someone else."
"No," I said quietly. At that moment I felt very close to him, even though we were so far apart. "I told you. I love you. Ell, I've had a lot of boyfriends, and I won't apologize for that. But I'm with you — I love you. I'm glad you want me."
"I do." He sounded like he was breathing hard, trying to control some strong emotion. "Oh, sweetheart, I do. Please come back to me, okay?"
That again? My heart sank.
"Ell, I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere. And if I disappear sometime, it's a pretty good sign I'm in trouble, so please don't decide I've gone because I want to go."
That scared me, sometimes. In one of his visions, I hadn't been there and he'd been wishing I'd come back. I didn't think I'd ever leave on purpose, so I was kind of scared about being kidnapped or something.
I hadn't shared that worry with him. I didn't like taking it all so seriously, and I certainly didn't like letting him know one of his visions had scared me.
"I'm getting on the next flight," said Ellery firmly — very firmly for him. He was usually quiet and tended to go along and not make waves. "The very next flight. I miss you and I love you, and I won't make you face the precinct alone ever again."
#
Ellery was as good as his word.
I couldn't get over my sweet, shy, slightly fragile boyfriend rushing to my rescue, but that's what he did. I'd told him where I was staying before we said our goodbyes, and in the morning, there he was, knocking at my door, rousing me out of sleep.
How had he possibly gotten here so quickly? The man was like magic sometimes.
When I opened the door in the middle of all that persistent knocking, there he stood, looking slightly rumpled but large as life. I was in a half-open bathrobe, yawning my head off, my hair a total wreck. Still sleepy and half-thinking it was a dream, I opened my arms to him and he embraced me tightly. I breathed in the smell of him, wonderful even though he'd probably been on a plane all night.
"Did you get any sleep?" I mumbled against his soft, flyaway hair. I could eat him up right now.
"That doesn't matter." His voice was husky, and he hugged me like he would never let go.
We shuffled away from the door, still holding on to each other, and he kicked it shut with one foot. "Mm." He nestled against me, and I held him tightly, rejoicing in the comforting togetherness, the feel of his strong, slim body against mine, the unselfconscious way he felt about me, and the fierce river of love I could feel from him, almost too much to handle.
"Mm. I missed you."
"I missed you."
We were very emotional. We also had sex, a comfortable, sleepy sort of sex, and then showered together, and ordered the most expensive things off the room service menu.
Ellery actually had a lot to say about my situation, after I had shared what was happening.
"I think you can offer to stay another day, but only if they give you breaks. You know you need breaks. Kevin's really good about that, and he doesn't even ask you to be in such angry and stressful situations." He crunched a piece of jelly toast decisively.
I was about to agree when he added, "And I want to be there."
"No, that—" I looked at him, surprised. He met my gaze steadily, and his emotions told me he meant it — even knowing it would probably be too difficult for him to handle.
"Peter, you get broken there. I need to be there to protect you."
It made me smile to hear him say that. "I'm not sure how."
"Me neither, but I want to try. It can't be you taking care of me all the time."
He was so sweet. "Get over here." I lunged for him, and he laughed and half-jerked away. I caught him in my arms and wrestled him closer, roughing his hair the wrong way and kissing him fiercely on the neck.
He giggled and enjoyed it. For such a slim, nervous, short fellow who'd been teased too much when he was younger, he really enjoyed it when I got a little physical with him, playing and roughhousing with him.
Maybe because I always knew when to stop.
#
The captain arrived next. It had started to rain, and he was dripping; even his moustache looking soggy. He seemed as annoyed as a half-drowned cat.
If he wasn't literally holding his hat in his hands, he definitely gave the impression of a man willing to. "Durphy," he began, and then saw the man with me, my boyfriend.
I'd gotten changed after our shower, had put on my high-powered suit. It had begun to feel like armor to me, something to make me more impressive when I was facing intimidating people. It also made me feel professional, now that I'd been working with Kev for so long. When we strode down a hallway together, trying to make our strides match, it felt amazing — two mentally tough, strong, and clever guys ready to take on the world. In amazing suits.
So I was definitely decent, and really, Ellery wasn't indecent. He was delightfully damp, his hair starting to frizz as it dried. He was wrapped in a plush bathrobe which was a bit bigger on him than it would be on me. It covered up his thighs and even most of his calves. His delightful bare feet still showed, of course, and a bit of his chest in the V where the top folded closed. Even modestly belted shut, the fuzzy garment couldn't hide all of my boyfriend's gorgeousness.
He gave the captain a nod that was almost regal, not looking the least bit self-conscious. "Um," began the captain, thrown off by this development.
"Captain, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Ellery Smess." I drew Ell forward, one arm lightly displaying him, around his shoulder, and he gave the captain a slight nod, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. He liked being introduced as the boyfriend. He liked it a lot.
I gave Ell a decorous kiss on the temple, and he smiled. "How do you do, Captain. I've heard a lot about you."
"Have you?"
"Ellery is my long-term boyfriend," I heard myself informing the captain. It sounded equal parts defiant and braggy. A man truly confident in himself and his relationship wouldn't need to sound like that.
"Hm," said the captain. He didn't seem to particularly care. "I didn't know you'd brought anyone with you."
"I flew down," said Ell simply. "And I'd like to come in with him today, if that's all right. I don't want Pete to get so stressed again."
He was calling me Pete because the captain was here, and I appreciated it. He often called me Peter, but that felt more intimate to me. I didn't like people thinking of me as Peter all the time. Especially folks who might be tempted to add "rabbit" onto that description, because I was small.
The captain's eyes widened slightly. "You mean he's — you're — coming in?" He turned the question to me. "I thought after yesterday—" He cleared his throat. He hated groveling, but felt like he had to, and was psyching himself up for it.
Once again, Ellery intervened. "Sir, Pete doesn't mind helping — for one more day — if it really will help, but you have to give him more breaks. It's difficult for my boyfriend to sit still in a hostile environment for long periods. I need you to respect that, please. I want to come along to see that things don't get out of hand today."
At least he didn't say "to keep Pete in line." I stared at him, not sure where this self-confidence in dealing with strangers had come from. He was normally very shy around people he didn't know well — sometimes even when he did.
But here he was, standing up straight and tall, not the least bit self-conscious about his lack of size, facing the gigantic captain down steadily, and making his demands in such a reasonable tone that no one could've told him no without feeling like a fool.
His steady blue gaze held the captain's as he waited calmly.
"Yes, that's fine. Thank you," said the captain, adding that last bit on awkwardly. He shuffled his feet a bit, not sure what to say, hating how he felt like a small kid under Ellery's calm stare.
"I'll get ready," said Ell. "Do you want to wait for me, and drive us down, or shall I take a cab?"
"We'll wait," I said before the captain could think about separating us. If I was going to let Ell fight my battles for me, and be my knight in shining armor, well, then I didn't want to be away from him for even a little bit. I needed him between me and trouble, if he was strong enough to be my knight. I'd flown off the handle so hard yesterday, it had scared me.
I still cringed inwardly at the thought of going in and facing all those people I'd yelled at yesterday — not to mention sitting through another interrogation.
I pressed my hand to my forehead and sighed. Ellery had already turned away, but now he turned back quickly, touching my side with light, gentle fingers. "It'll be okay, I promise." I nodded tightly. Then he hurried off to change.
I led the captain into the tiny kitchenette area. "Coffee?" I said, to give Ell some privacy. We had some coffee left over in the pot, and there were extra mugs on the tray.
"Um, sure," said the captain, eyeing the meal we'd already finished otherwise. "Looks good."
"It was." I had no idea how I was going to handle this small talk. Or worse, if he apologized. Then I'd have to, as well, and I'd rather tear a fingernail off right now. Even though I was sorry, really. What was the point of apologizing if you were still angry, and knew you'd probably do it again the same way all over again if the same situation arose, and you really did think they'd been in the wrong — but you had, too?
I'd learned at an early age that, no matter how hard I tried, I was always going to be wrong. I was going to struggle with school subjects the other kids found easy, and sitting still most of all. I was going to be too short, too loud, too irritating. I was going to drive people crazy.
And if I apologized for it, they'd expect me to change in the future. But I couldn't. I couldn't change one thing about myself, and never had been able to. It made it hard for me to apologize. Not because I wasn't sorry, but because it felt fake, like I was promising to be able to do better, when I knew very well that I probably never would.
Fortunately, Ellery was ready in record time (and looking very trim and hot in his own slightly more casual suit). He smiled at me in a very genuine way, and I felt a strong emotion of reassurance pulsing from him, aimed towards me. He felt confident and happy — and he wanted me to feel safe.
You're so strong, and I never knew.
I grinned back at him and took his arm and we headed out to the captain's car. It would be rude to say I'd thought he was always weak! Although I kind of had. He was such a sensitive guy, I hadn't thought about relying on his strength, using it up. But he seemed to have more, when it came to helping me, and that was kind of flattering — and yes, it was reassuring.
On the way, I asked for and received permission to tell Ellery about the case. The captain's initial hesitation — it wasn't really procedure — evaporated as soon as he realized Ellery was also a graduate of the ESRB. Then he wanted to tell him everything in the faint chance he might be able to help in some way.
The captain put a lot of faith in the ESRB. That was kind of sad to me, knowing he might never get another ESRB graduate at his precinct again. I'd have to be honest if they asked me if I could recommend the place. But probably they wouldn't ask; probably it just wouldn't happen. I wasn't going to lie for him, even if I did like the captain, despite all our quarrels.
Ellery listened to everything with a single-minded, quiet intensity. He sat very near me in the cab, even though he didn't have to squeeze quite that close. His slim, muscular thigh pressed against mine felt fine. By the time we arrived at the station, he was up to speed on the confusing and legitimately awful case.
What was Damon hiding? What could be so important that it would let a murderer get away and might send him to jail?
The captain was desperate to find out. He managed another awkward apology on the way, and I was just as awkward in return, mumbling something quietly and wishing I could disappear.
The precinct was cleared out quite a bit, with not nearly as many rubberneckers as I'd expected crowding around, waiting to gawk at me and judge me. I realized he might've sent them away. Wow. The captain was making a big effort.
We headed almost right away into the interrogation room, with me and Ellery behind the glass, watching and listening, and another officer there to record and take down my comments. The officer was very tense indeed; he knew a great deal of things depended on getting this right. He felt helpless and out of his depth.
The captain didn't think to reassure him, and I didn't know how. It was just one more addition to the background noise of unhappy emotions that was already starting to make me feel trapped. The captain was none too happy himself, and Damon, already in the interrogation room and waiting with a fair idea of what was to come, felt distinctly low in spirits.
Why couldn't Damon just tell the truth and let this all go away? Then I could go back home with Ellery. Well, I was heading home tomorrow either way — for sure.
Ellery took one look at my face and put his hand in mine and squeezed.
He didn't have to be able to read me with an empath's talent to know how I was feeling. At the moment, that felt pretty amazing. So did his hand in mine.
#
Throughout the whole interview process, Ellery was my anchor. He kept me comfortable with his steady nearness. When I began to pace, or otherwise seem distressed, he would immediately let the officer know I needed a break. Then we'd have a quick coffee together, or go for a power walk around the block or something. Always, he stayed near me without judgment or disdain.
He could see I was struggling in the confines of the precinct. He seemed to read me as well as I read him, and without any special ESRB-ranked talent for it at all. That was pretty inspiring. It made me want to do better, and to be a better boyfriend to him.
"You okay now?" he'd ask when I was doing better, and I'd nod, and we'd head in for a few more minutes of the grueling interrogation.
At first, the captain's emotions read disbelief and disdain . . . but that changed to a kind of shocked surprise as he began to understand. The fact that I needed so many breaks and he'd never known began to show him how ill-suited I'd been to the job, and how difficult I'd found it working at the precinct.
After a bit, though, I noticed Ellery was starting to get pissed off. His restless irritation surpassed my own. I stared at him, but I didn't know what to say or do to make it better. Ell never got annoyed at me — not like that! As it was, his impatience practically bounced off the confining walls. If he had to be mad at me on top of everything else, I was probably going to start hyperventilating.
He gave me a quick, tight smile, and looked around, restless. Then he motioned for the officer and said something to him in a low voice. The man looked at me, then Ell, then nodded quickly and hurried from the room. Ellery stomped over to the table, scowling. He got a slip of paper, wrote something on it and folded it in half.
"Ell?" I managed. I was damn near crying, and I just don't do that. "Everything okay, buddy?"
"Hm?" He looked at me quickly, and then his eyes opened wider. "Yes," he said very carefully and slowly. "Is everything okay for you? Do you need to get out of here?"
I shrugged, wrapping my arms around myself tightly, trying not to feel so emotional. He clearly wasn't annoyed at me — at least not mostly. That was pretty clear. But he was still annoyed — angry, even. It was something of a new experience, seeing him like this, feeling his anger. I wasn't a fan.
The captain came into the room, looking pissed off, distracted, and harried. "Yes? What is it now?" He was barely restraining himself from hissing the words at me.
"If you please," said Ellery crisply, standing at his full height and handing over the folded slip of paper, "ask him that. And then maybe we can go?"
He folded his arms over his chest and glared at the captain.
The captain glanced at the paper. His brows rose. Then he left the room, thoughtful.
I stared at Ellery. He moved up beside me and took my hand, and I felt a little better. "I'm sorry," he whispered, leaning closer to me so we couldn't be overheard. "You don't like it when people get upset, huh?"
I shook my head, gulping. I felt very fragile at the moment, and rather stupid. I was supposed to be the strong one — wasn't I?
Inside the interrogation room, the captain's chair scraped back and he sat down. "Do you think you know someone who was involved in the murder, or knows more about the murder?"
"No," said Damon, looking stony-faced. "I've told you all I—"
"Lie," I told the officer. He made a note of it, nodding quickly. This wasn't really new ground.
The captain was continuing with his line of questioning. I glanced at Ellery for a clue, but he was looking at the two of them intensely. It reminded me of the way a cat watches a bird, wanting to attack but knowing it can't get through the glass. The thought made me smile for an instant.
"Let's say you know someone is involved, and you're protecting them, keeping their name out of it. Why?"
"I told you, I'm not—"
"Lie," I said.
The officer noted it down.
"Why would that be?" The captain and Damon stared at each other. Damon was visibly sweating. "Was it because you were sleeping with him?" the captain asked almost gently.
"No," said Damon.
"Lie," I supplied. "He's got it." All three of us leaned closer.
Damon wiped his sweaty brow. The captain glanced at the glass. "Damn it," whispered Damon. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. "He's . . ." He shook his head, almost panting for a moment.
"It wasn't like that," he protested. By now, he knew I was here; he was putting the facts together and getting a pretty good clue about what was going on, if he hadn't already known. His emotions were spiraling ever further downwards. "It wasn't like that. Josh didn't — he didn't have anything—" His voice cracked, and he buried his head in his hands.
"Just tell me the truth, son, and I can help you," said the captain quietly, almost gently. "There's no reason to go to jail for murder when you didn't do it."
Damon shook his head against his hands, trying not to cry. "I — I didn't. But he didn't — I'm sure he didn't. I'll — I'll tell you everything I know."
#
Ellery could barely hold back his triumph. He was still fiercely angry with Damon, but he kept it in check. We sat through another half hour of questioning before we were released.
The whole sordid story came out. No wonder Damon had hidden it; it went along with his whole "I'm not really gay" thing. He hated that part of himself, so of course he didn't want to talk about it to the captain, and on the record. These records would probably be part of a court proceeding. He'd already lost his witness, his credibility, and probably his job. He couldn't stand to lose that last little bit, his privacy. It had been stripped from him now, so he had nothing to do but let the whole story burst forth.
He'd gotten involved with a man — a hookup who became a sex buddy — while he was undercover. It had been the nearly anonymous sex he apparently preferred, and they'd both been startled when they discovered they were working on opposite sides of things.
Josh Kinsey hadn't turned him in to his boss for being a cop, which kept Damon from losing his life or his spot undercover. While he technically should've reported that he'd been compromised, he felt that Josh would keep his secret for at least a while longer — especially since they were still fucking and Josh was getting pretty hot and heavy about it. (He made no mention of his own intense feelings, the coward.)
He'd made the decision to stay undercover and keep working on the witness, and had felt he was nearing a breakthrough. Yolanda, unfortunately, caught wind of his affair with Josh, although he wasn't sure how. Intuition, rumor, or some missed piece of evidence. Whatever the case, it had played merry hell with his work of getting her to trust him and testify. Especially because she'd like-liked him.
They had fought, and he'd left to cool off, and in the heat of anger, she'd called after him that he was "a gay slur," according to him. He'd left in a hurry, very angry.
The next time he saw her, she was dead — and he was a prime suspect.
I could see how it looked bad. Had Josh been involved? Had someone else figured it out and decided to scuttle the investigation in the best (and most evil) way possible? It wasn't really my affair anymore.
The captain told me wearily that I could go. "And thank you for your help."
I had the feeling he'd been about to say something else before he saw Ellery's fierce expression, though. Ell was keeping hold of my arm, as if he was afraid I'd drop without his support. I might have, as tired as I felt.
"That's all now," said Ellery firmly. "You can contact someone else from the ESRB for further help. Or get a lie detector. Or actually do some legwork to prove your theories from now on." He glared at the captain, looking little but fierce. "It you call him back in, I will report you.
"And you know what? Even though your man wasn't legally responsible for Yolanda's death, he morally was. Because you guys . . ." Here he poked the captain in the chest with a finger, glaring. "Because you guys put her in danger just by trying to use her as a witness against dangerous people." He scowled fiercely. "And if you hadn't, she'd still be alive. Her son is an orphan now, forever, and he might have trouble all his life because of it. You'd better start a fund to take care of him, and you'd better see that he gets whatever help and care he needs. You don't dump people. You don't treat people like disposable trash because oh, well, it's legal, because fuck that. You're not the good guys if you do that."
The captain stared at him, apparently too stunned to speak. His face started to get red. "There's . . . there is a fund started."
"Yeah?" Ellery looked at his face, still hard and angry. "Well, it'd better get plenty of donations. And that kid better have what he needs. Because you guys fucked up. Mercer should never have been undercover if he couldn't keep it in his pants, and she shouldn't have been used as a witness when she was so vulnerable!"
The captain started to get mad. "Listen, you have a lot of nerve commenting on an investigation you had no part in."
I knew the captain hadn't had full say over what had happened, either, and I was about to say something to calm Ell down (even though it was glorious seeing him like this, and I thought he had a good point).
The captain scowled. "Are you leaving?" he asked crisply. "I have nothing more to say to either of you."
"Yes. We're leaving," said Ellery, glaring. "But don't forget I'll report you if you drag Peter back into this . . . this madhouse!" He started to go, then turned around and marched back, his cheeks hot. "Except for the information about the fund for the kid. Peter and I want to donate to that, too. You need to send the information to us."
And with that, he turned on his heel and hurried from the room, tugging me after him firmly.
"Hey," I complained, feeling both grateful and ridiculously close to laughing at him. Ell didn't get fierce — he just didn't!
"What?" he asked, scowling at me and shoving my jacket into my hands. We were so close to being gone, I hoped forever. "You saved him from being tried for murder. You've given them their lead. They can do the rest themselves! And they were wrong to choose her as a sacrifice!"
"Okay. But . . . report them?" I shrugged into my jacket, unable to keep a weary grin off my face. I shook my head at him. "You picked a fine time to get fierce. Not that I don't appreciate it."
"I meant it. I'm not having them kill you to save a few extra steps in the process. You helped with one thing — and it took a lot out of you. Don't go back there, Peter. I mean it. It's not good."
He looked into my face, the concern there easy to read even without my empath talents. "I don't want to lose you," he said quietly.
The feeling startled me, so stark inside him. He was honestly worried about my mental health — even my life. It wasn't a vision or his anxiety acting up. It was the way I'd been acting. Having to be involved in an interrogation that way had been very difficult for me — and he realized it.
Of course, I wasn't about to drop dead from the strain or harm myself, but he didn't know that. He was genuinely concerned and acting out of a desire to keep me safe and alive. And, to be honest, it had gotten that bad in the past, where I was thinking about dying, and wishing I could escape that way, any way at all.
"Hon, let's get out of here," I said, touching his shoulder. I wanted to thank him for caring so much, for looking out for me, but I would probably get choked up if I did, and I didn't want anyone seeing me that way here.
He nodded, grabbed his jacket, and we left.
#
When he wanted to go dancing, I jumped on that suggestion so quick your head would've spun.
"What brought this on?" I couldn't help asking as we flagged down a cab.
"I like dancing, too," he said. "It makes me feel alive. And I want to feel alive tonight, don't you?"
I heartily agreed. "I guess we feel the same way about things," I said, somehow surprised by that.
"Sometimes," agreed Ell. "Sometimes we're very different. I know that. But I guess I'll keep you anyway." He gave me a quick, naughty grin.
When we got to the club, it was packed. I didn't see Angel — but before a half hour had gone by, he saw me and headed over to join us.
"Pete," he said, smiling at me, his eyes warm. He was such a sweet guy, and he'd never be able to hide that. What I liked best about him, aside from his hot body and beautiful eyes, was that he'd never tried.
He wasn't like Damon — not at all. Angel accepted himself for who he was, whether anyone else did or not. That's what had made it hurt so much when he couldn't accept me for who I was.
"Angel, this is Ellery," I said, almost at a shout, because the music was loud. I put a hand gingerly on my boyfriend's back, trying not to be either possessive or bossy.
Angel did a double take, seeing Ell for the first time. Then an incredulous smile spread across his face. "You are beautiful."
Ellery stared back, drinking in the hot Latino goodness that was Angel's beauty. Think of an adjective for someone gorgeous. Angel probably fits it.
Now, Ellery was pretty hot himself, but he seemed stunned under those appreciative, warm eyes. "Th-thanks," he said.
"How did you meet?" said Angel, making conversation. He was being so kind, I could hardly believe it. He flashed us both a smile, no malice in it.
He meant it when he said Ellery was beautiful, but it was a free compliment, no ulterior motives in it at all. He was a beautiful man who appreciated beautiful men.
"We work together, sort of," I said.
Ellery held out his hand, looking a bit breathless. "I'm a clairvoyant," he explained.
Angel's eyebrows shot up. "Ah. But you understand him, then. You are both the same."
"No," I said at the same time as Ellery said, "Yes."
We looked at each other and clarified.
"We both have talents, so we understand what it's like," said Ellery.
"But we don't have the same talent," I added. I really wasn't enjoying this conversation. I wanted to be anywhere else, even back at the precinct. I felt raw, exposed.
Angel's eyes were compassionate and too-knowing. "And I did not understand. I am sorry again. It was wrong of me."
Ell looked back and forth between us, then put a hand on my forearm and squeezed gently. "Let's dance, Pete."
Angel nodded and stepped back, folding his arms across his chest. He had the look of a man who was going to enjoy watching. "You are beautiful together. He is good for you."
"Thanks," I managed as Ell led me out to dance, his touch on my arm light, guiding me, protecting me.
I danced. Ell danced. Angel was right; we were beautiful together. Always had been and, I hoped, always would be. I could feel the crowd's enjoyment mixing with our own. My painful, raw feelings began to ease.
By the third song, I felt much better. Flushed, hot, and thirsty, but calmer, my heart no longer thundering with vulnerability. Ellery's presence grounded and protected me. The admiration of the crowd filled me with something good, where before I'd been feeling ragged and fragile inside, scrubbed raw and humiliated.
When we got back to the table to join Angel for a drink, I felt light on my feet, loose-limbed and warm. I slid an arm around Ellery, just because I could, as we slid into the booth together. He gave me a look that was both warm and intimate, and a bit teasing. He licked his lower lip sensuously, let his eyelids droop, and leaned against me, letting his dimple show in his hot, lazy grin.
I leaned in and kissed him. He tasted just right.
Angel was still watching, so I stopped the kiss and straightened my shirt. I was turned on, and glad I was sitting down so nobody could notice and comment on that. Trust me, it was the kind of club where people would comment, even if Angel didn't.
"Beautiful," said Angel again.
"Yes, but I think you've watched enough now," said Ellery, and gave him a wink. He leaned forward. "Tell me about yourself. I want to know more about you."
Angel did. They were soon chatting and laughing together, even reaching across the table to hold hands for a brief moment. I wasn't entirely comfortable with the fact that Ellery and Angel got on like a house on fire.
I didn't get sexual interest from them — and I'd have been more than aware of it if it had been there. Even though it probably looked like flirting to everyone else in the room, I could feel the authentic thing going on between them. They genuinely liked each other. Though they each appreciated the other's appearance — and they'd have to be dead not to, I thought — it wasn't in an 'I want to fuck him' kind of way.
Each thought the other was cute and interesting. There was an affinity there, instead of the jealousy and awkwardness that were more to be expected in this situation. It wasn't that I wanted them to fight over me or get ruffled feathers; I didn't. I just felt a little weird that Ellery and my ex were becoming fast friends. They were chatting like they'd known each other for years.
I ordered a few more drinks and some things to eat, but I ended up paying more attention to the food than either of them did. They talked with such friendly animation, they barely ate a couple of fries, Ellery plucking one up with his delicate, slim fingers and then waving it about to illuminate some point he was making, Angel snatching a couple quickly, chewing and swallowing as if it was a chore to be hurried out of the way, and then nodding hard, eager to talk again as soon as he'd swallowed. He wiped his fingers delicately on his jeans, forgetting there were napkins right there.
I had the fried chicken strips all to myself, and their white-meat, breaded deliciousness didn't fill me with anything like happiness, just sated my hunger.
After a bit, Ellery looked at me, his eyes widening suddenly. "Peter. I'm sorry." He reached over and squeezed my thigh. "You're tired, aren't you? We should get some rest before the flight back tomorrow."
"Ah," said Angel, looking at us both quickly, and then focusing on me, his gaze getting gentle in a way that I hated, because it felt like pity, and it reminded me of other looks he'd given me, tender looks when we'd woken up in the same bed, knowing we had a whole day to share with only one another.
I was going to cry any minute, and I didn't know why. I felt awful, frazzled to the bone. "Sorry," I mumbled, wanting to hide my face from their knowing compassion. "It was a long day."
"Of course." We all rose, me slightly slower than the other two, who moved as if they were in sync. Ellery put an arm around me and rubbed my shoulder gently.
When we were out of the booth, Angel moved in to hug me, a gentle hug accompanied by a quick kiss on the cheek. "You will be very happy with this man," he promised. "Go home, rest. It was good to see you both."
He looked at me with intensity shining in his eyes and something very kind in his heart, something like love, even though it wasn't. His feelings were warm and he was only a little hurt inside — the ache of missing me, missing having a man of his own. But he'd accepted it, knew this was how it was, and he didn't hold it against either of us.
I wouldn't hold it against him anymore, either. I couldn't. But I couldn't hug him back with much conviction, either. Then Ell moved in for a hug with Angel.
"You will call me, right?" asked Ellery, drawing back from his tight hug with Angel and holding him at arm's length. "Promise?"
"I promise." Angel made a cross over his heart and grinned.
They'd exchanged numbers while I was eating. And some funny pictures on their phones, passing them back and forth to look at, laughing together over silly things while I choked down chicken and tried not to scream in boredom.
"This is for you. Friends don't let friends do without," he said, pressing something into Angel's hand with a very stern, almost scolding look.
It looked like a roll of money. From Angel's startled face, it felt like it, too.
"And wear protection," I added, recovering my wits a bit, enough to give him a wink.
Angel flushed slightly, the faintest hint of darkness to his already dusky skin. He ducked his head in a nod, embarrassed.
"Because we care about you and want you to be safe and happy," said Ellery, pulling him in for another hug.
Angel tried to give back the money, but Ellery kissed him on the cheek and whispered something to him that left him still and stunned, and then we left before he could change his mind. Ellery pulled me after him, holding on to my hand tightly, as if he was afraid of losing me in the crowd.
I realized I kind of liked it when he took charge. I usually felt like I needed to take care of him — but not today. Today I'd learned a lot about his strength of will. I was proud of him, even if I was less than proud of myself for needing to be taken care of.
Ellery waved to the crowd as we left, and at least a third of the dancers waved back, as if he'd been specifically waving at them and they would miss him. The feelings around the room confirmed it. "Golly, you have some fans," I observed.
"Oh, we always get that reaction when we dance together, don't you think?" He glanced at me, unsure now. "I thought you liked it."
"I do," I admitted. "As long as I know you don't actually want to leave me for any of them." I sounded more hesitant and sincere than I'd meant to. It was supposed to have been a flippant remark. It didn't work that way.
He gave me an intent look, almost a hard look, and squeezed my hand harder. "I can promise you that won't happen, Peter." He gave my hand a little shake. "Come on, let's go back and get some sleep."
We stood on the curb and he raised a hand, standing as tall as he could, to hail a cab. He looked so precious, compact and strong and vital and real, standing there in his good clothes, looking edible. His hair was a bit askew, the way it normally was, and the neon from the club backlighting him made it glow different colors, reddish and purple and orange-yellow and off-white.
I felt I could melt into his strength and let him carry me, keeping me safe forever. I kept hold of his hand for comfort and safety.
The lights also touched the damp street, and the wheels of passing traffic swooshed in the wetness, a comfortable sound. The rain must have been light, because it hadn't made big splashy puddles, just a damp sheen that glowed in the city's night lights.
My fingers were cold, except the ones clasped in his hand. I wanted to say something, but I wasn't sure what. At a loss for words? Me? I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I would cry instead. Ellery hadn't noticed, kept scanning the street for a cab.
One pulled up, swift and quiet, and he let out a nervous breath. "Good. I was afraid we'd have to call." He looked at me, still holding my hand, and then released it long enough to tumble into the back of the cab, leaving plenty of room for me.
The cab smelled of cigarettes and incense and something like chewing gum, something sweet. Another odor clung beneath it, the reek of someone's perfume or aftershave. It was too strong, clinging to the space like a ghost, or writing on a bathroom wall, an unwanted reminder of someone else's invasion of the space.
I shut the door behind me. It closed with the quiet, authoritative clunk of an expensive vehicle. There was the distinct, quiet sound of the locks clicking, a frightening, final sound.
"Oh, dear," said Ellery, giving me a stunned look.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I was shivering, teeth chattering. I reached for the lock, tried to open it manually. No luck. Was this a real cab? Did they do that?
The cabbie suddenly seemed like a dark, menacing shadow in the front. He hadn't threatened us — yet.
I fumbled my phone out of my pocket, unable to think of anything but getting help. Ellery clutched my arm, fingers digging in. He made a small sound, like a whimper. Neither of us knew what to do.
My hands trembled as I fumbled with my phone. The light seemed bright in the back of the cab, and I was afraid every moment that the cab driver — or whoever he really was — would stop me, perhaps with a gun and a threat and a silky, villainous voice.
So far I'd gotten no strong feelings from him at all, but Ellery and I were terrified. With a couple of quick swipes and taps, I called Kev before I could second-guess our terror. Of course, the moment the phone began its first tinny ring, I wondered if that was procedure here; perhaps there were a lot of thefts.
But the cab had pulled away, and he hadn't asked where we were going. Please, Kev, pick up. Help me. Know what to do!
Should I have called the precinct instead? Somehow I couldn't imagine turning to the captain, hearing him bark at me over the phone, scorning my fear. A couple of raging poofs, scared of their own shadows, he'd likely think, even if he never said it. The feelings I'd get off him the next time I saw him in person would tell the tale. And I wasn't supposed to see him, not ever again.
I was supposed to go home, to be safe in my little room in the big building, with Kev to run to like a security blanket older brother if I got even minimally scared. All the security guards around, all the safety, the peace and quiet and good things to eat, and time to rest and recover.
I wanted Kevin desperately. Instead, I had Ellery, shivering beside me, as frightened as I was. My fear fed off his to a level of near hysteria. Still, the driver hadn't spoken or threatened, and I hadn't dared say a word, either. The phone rang, and there was Kevin's voice, reassuringly real.
"Hello?" He sounded tinny and far away; the phone was still on my lap.
I lifted it quickly to my face. "Help us, Kevin. We're in a cab and he's locked the doors, and I don't think it's really a cab at all." I desperately hoped my slightly hysterical whisper carried over the distance between us.
There was a pregnant pause. "Go along with him," said Kevin, his voice deadly serious, calm in a way that said more about his fear than anything else could've. "Don't resist. I'll get you free."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak again. Even though he couldn't see me, of course.
"Where are you?" asked Kevin very softly.
"We just left Klub F.U.," I whispered. "Me and Ell. Please hurry."
"Do you have a sense of what he wants?"
I made a small sound in my throat that wasn't meant to be a whimper, but sounded like one anyway.
"I think you should hang up now," said the driver, his manner jovial. He wasn't feeling strong emotions at all, but he had a steadiness of purpose about him. "Pass it up here. His, too, if you please." Keeping an eye on us in the mirror, he held out his hand over the back seat.
I hung up, shivering inside and out. Ellery and I meekly handed our phones up. I put an arm around him, as much for comfort as to offer it. "He says go along," I whispered, quiet as I could, so quiet I wasn't even sure he heard.
But he nodded, a feeling of understanding inside him. There was a flight-or-fight feeling in Ellery, a feeling he was familiar with from many bad days. You did what you had to to survive, and you could have a breakdown and a panic attack later. He'd been in situations like this before, I realized with a sinking pain in my chest. Not kidnapping, but being in danger, not knowing if there was a way out, or if anyone would come to help him.
In the mental health facilities where he'd been kept and drugged up? Or elsewhere? I hugged him against my side firmly with one arm. He needed to be kept safe — and here I was fighting my own terror. I didn't want him to have any more bad dreams to add to his stockpile.
We were both shivering, but he told me, "It's all right." Then he said, in a louder voice, "Where are you taking us?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," said the driver.
How long had he waited for us? Was it a real cab, hired or stolen? And what would happen next? All I could do was hold on to Ellery, and think desperate thoughts about escape, and wait.
#
As the cab pulled to a halt in a suspiciously empty-warehouse-looking neighborhood, Ellery's hand slipped into my and offered . . . was that a reassuring squeeze?
"It's okay," he whispered, leaning close, his lips tickling against my ear, his words so quiet I almost couldn't hear. "I'm getting something. I think . . . it's okay."
Then he did kiss me, and that made me smile and edge away in spite of myself. His mouth really did tickle. Apparently I have ticklish ears.
He gave my hand another tight squeeze, and I could feel him smiling. He was relieved . . . and thinking hard. I hoped that was his talent working, and suspected it was. Ell wouldn't lie to me, and wouldn't be convincing if he did. He really did think things were going to work out in our favor.
"All right, out of the cab," said the driver. His emotions had been nearly flat the whole way. It was disconcerting to be in such a state of anxiety myself while he was so calm this could've been all in a day's work for him. It probably was. As long as his day's work involved absconding with empaths and clairs.
Ell and I got out of the cab awkwardly, unable to hold hands the way we wanted to, but not wanting to get separated. We stood outside it finally, side by side, pressed close. His hand found mine again and held on. I was relieved, even though I'd been frightened to take his hand first.
Why? Did I care if they mocked us for being gay? We were, and there was a lot more serious stuff at stake here than the captors thinking we were unmanly. If anything, maybe prejudice against gay people would make them underestimate us.
I wondered how much there was to underestimate. Neither Ell nor I was very large. I was stronger than I looked, and better in a scrap, or at taking a punch. But there was no denying I was small and not unbreakable. And Ell was much less of a fighter than I.
Still, his confidence was greater now, and he felt . . . glad about something. I really hoped this was his talent working on overdrive, and that he knew what to do next. I didn't.
I was getting something, people emerging from shadows. I was getting their emotions before I could see them. Ah, there they were: two shadowy figures emerging, and one staying behind, steady and firm. I suspected from the cold, metallic gleam of his emotions that he was holding a gun trained on us, in case we ran. From the other two I wasn't getting anything much friendlier.
One man was cold enough that he was almost emotionless. The other was smug, dangerous, and slightly nervous — which didn't make him any safer, to my line of thinking.
I wished I shared Ell's confidence, because I was getting more and more anxious as they approached, my breath coming in funny little gasps I tried to gulp back, terror making me tremble all the way to my stomach.
Ell squeezed my hand harder and leaned against my side. "It's okay," he whispered.
But how would he feel if he knew we had a gun trained on us?
"Hello," said the smug man, who was clearly in charge. They were walking side by side, but he was the one in control, I could tell. I was getting very little off the other man, like he had nothing going on inside at all and was completely shut down, and I was starting to wonder if he wanted to be.
Was that the weakness we were going to exploit so we could escape?
"Hello, gentlemen," said the smug man. He was feeling clever, but also edgy. "I apologize for the means of contacting you, but you're both very hard to get hold of, you know."
"Are we?" I asked. My hands were still trembling, but I congratulated myself that my voice didn't. Ell gave my arm a squeeze.
"I'd like to offer you a better job than you currently have. The pay is excellent, and I think you'll find the standard of living could easily double for you both — at least."
"That's all right. We're happy where we are," said Ellery.
"Ah, but you haven't heard the offer yet."
"That's all right," said Ell again. "Can we go now? We have a flight to catch in the morning. It's been a long day."
"You need to listen to—"
"He's not going to," said the blank man, interrupting. "He's not interested."
Wait, was he reading Ellery and me? Did that make him an empath as well? He'd seemed so emotionally dead that it really surprised me.
"If you have your own empath," I said to the smug man, "what do you need me for?"
"Well, I really need Mr. Smess, here," the man said jovially and with far too much confidence for my peace of mind. "We'll gladly hire both of you, of course. I can understand you don't want to be parted, especially now that you're in a relationship."
Great. Clearly, some surveillance had taken place. I felt slightly violated. I wasn't ashamed of our relationship, and they could've gotten that information from any number of sources — it was probably in a bunch of files tucked away here and there, some with less security than others — but it still felt creepy hearing him mention it that way. Like he was in the know about us, about our lives, and wanted to use our feelings for each other to pull our strings. Puppet-mastering us, the way he was probably doing to the dead-feeling empath facing us.
I wished the light was better so I could see the man. Naturally I was curious about another empath. It's a lonely life sometimes. I was trying hard, underneath everything, to get a read on him, but nothing doing.
Was he blocking me? Could empaths do that? I didn't even know; we certainly hadn't been taught about that at the ESRB training facility.
Then again, since I did have a low ranking, I probably wouldn't have been trained in anything like that anyway. It wasn't something I could've done, so maybe they hadn't bothered telling me? I was starting to think there were a lot of things the ESRB shared only on a need-to-know basis. They being the ones who decided who needed to know, of course.
"We don't want to work for you," said Ellery, his voice clear and calm. "I'm sorry, but we have to go now." He turned to go, tugging on me to bring me with him. I followed numbly. They weren't going to let us get away, but I still would follow him to the ends of the earth. He was being brave and calm, which amazed me.
"No," said the man from the taxi, stepping forward to stop us.
There was the quiet pock of a silenced gun, firing. He went down immediately, knocked back by the gunfire. I froze, staring. Blood was spurting from his upper arm.
"You'd better attend to your friend," said Ellery in a voice that sounded calm. I could feel his fear and shock underneath, though. He tugged my arm, needing me to follow him.
Had he foreseen this? Even if he had, it had still shocked and unnerved him. I followed closely. The smug man had lost some of his smugness, and his companion had felt a brief jolt of panic. Now he was back to no emotions — or such dim ones I wasn't able to sense them from this distance.
Meanwhile, Ellery was leading me off into the night.
I wasn't close enough anymore to get something from the man waiting with the gun. What was he doing?
Could he have been the one who fired at the taxi guy? I dismissed that thought immediately — it made no sense — and focused on getting away with my boyfriend. Or at least giving it a damned good try.
We couldn't just stand there and shiver while someone was shooting, could we? And the gunman, whoever he was, seemed to be on our side, so we could hope to not fall down dead at any moment, shot through the back.
All the same, I had a crawling feeling, especially in my cranium, imagining things I'd rather not see in vivid detail. From Ellery's fast breathing and extremely nervous vibes, he was thinking somewhat the same thing.
"We need to hurry," gasped Ell.
"I got the idea," I muttered.
We were holding hands in the dark, hurrying, halfway tripping over our own feet. The parking lot was flat and even, so it was only our speed and anxiety and the dim lighting making us clumsy. Why did everything have to be so empty? I wished hopelessly for a large crowd to lose ourselves in.
Nobody seemed to be following us, but I didn't trust that — not when my understanding of my skills had been severely shaken and I couldn't even sense the other empath, not really, and there was a gun involved.
After we'd gone a bit farther, Ellery seemed to lose his certainty, stumbling more, looking around more, his anxiety increasing. He could hardly believe we'd gotten away. I needed to ask him about what part of that he'd sensed, if any. He'd seemed very sure and brave and in control of himself for a while there.
I was still holding on to his hand tightly, but my other one was shaking hard. Now I took the initiative he seemed to be losing. He could probably tell I was as nervous as he was, but my street smarts were kicking in. Yes, we were far from civilization, but not that far; I could see the city lights in the distance, and the parking lot was clearly in a somewhat industrial area. If we hurried, we could probably hide out till we could get some kind of help — or at least find a cell phone. My mind started working overdrive.
With my ability, I could sense hostility aimed at us and hopefully get us away from it. With his, he could get glimpses of danger and steer us away. We had twice the resources. And Kevin was on the way to rescue us, so make that three times as many.
Of course it didn't feel like it just then, but all the same, that was the truth. I reminded myself of it as my feet hit grass instead of parking lot. "C'mon," I said. "We're getting somewhere."
"I w-wish I had my phone. Did that man get shot? Do you think he's . . . ?"
I hadn't heard anything behind us, so I didn't know what might be happening. I almost wished there was a ruckus; maybe somebody would call the cops, then. But it was a quiet area, so maybe there was nobody close by to call the cops.
"That looks like a gas station up ahead," I said. "Let's go there."
"O-o-okay." Ellery's teeth were chattering almost too hard for him to talk. I wondered if he was going into shock. It was a cool evening, and we'd both had a big scare. At least he was wearing a suit, so he should be warm.
"Let's keep moving," I suggested, squeezing his cold hand. I would pick him up and carry him if I had to, but it would slow us down, maybe enough for the bad guys to get their act together.
Or maybe they already had their act together, and the creepy empath was following us, silent and vampiric.
We stumbled over uneven grass and weeds, cut across two small roads, shying away from the light, and finally reached the outskirts of the gas station. It was lit up and bright inside, but not busy. There was a big rig parked along the side in a space clearly meant for that. One car was pulling out; a guy in a baseball hat was filling up his pickup, and a couple of vehicles were parked by the entrance, probably people buying caffeine-related products inside.
"Will we make better t-targets here?" asked Ellery, his voice rising with a note of hysteria. "And — and get picked off?"
"You were doing so good. Come on. You'd sense if that was going to happen, wouldn't you?"
"Y-yeah. Probably. I th-think so. Unless I d-didn't. Did he really shoot that guy? I don't feel very well, Peter."
"Let's call the cops and then Kevin, okay? Stay with me, honey. You did great, so try to stay calm." He'd done better than I had, but now he was starting to fall apart. I hoped I could take care of us both, now that it was my turn.
#
I suppose the fact that we were wearing expensive suits worked in our favor. Although we had come in from the night panting, disheveled, and wild-eyed, we were given access to a phone after I shared a disjointed version of what had happened.
First I called the police and reported a shooting. I couldn't think what else to report, so I hung up after giving the address, and then called Kevin. I had to dial twice, because although I knew the number by heart, my stress level made my dialing unreliable.
I told him more. Ellery was sitting on a plastic chair at a plastic table meant for patrons to sit and consume coffee and sandwiches. A sympathetic older woman who looked much tougher than she acted was keeping an eye on him, encouraging him to drink some coffee and take deep breaths. Ellery seemed to bring out her protective instincts. I couldn't blame her.
The few patrons and the employees were suspicious, incredulous, and fascinated by the crime, and a few of the people who'd been buying things decided they wanted to get lost before the cops showed up.
"I have to work, man. I can't be staying around and giving statements all night long."
It felt like days had passed since we had first stepped into that taxi, but it was still the same night.
Kevin assured me he'd been in contact with the ESRB, and would liaise with the police. He was also coming down by helicopter to see us himself.
"Be safe," I warned him.
"You too," he said.
After that, it was a long, dark night. Everyone was kind, even the police officers who showed up to investigate and take our statements. We had badges to flash, after all. But I wanted to be home, and Ell was done for, too.
We ended up being escorted to the police station to answer more questions and be kept safe till someone could come to pick us up. I knew it was for our own good, but it felt like we were being punished for someone else's crime. Like the very fact of our ESRB rankings made us targets, and it was probably all our fault anyway.
To be fair to the cops, they didn't act like that. It wasn't like the station where I'd worked. Apparently we'd been taken far enough to be in another county, so the police officers we dealt with were, refreshingly, strangers and not the captain and his officers there to look down on me.
I stayed close to Ellery, sometimes holding an arm around him and letting him lean against my shoulder. Even hopped up on coffee, he was exhausted. I wanted him to know I was here for him, and not going anywhere.
We didn't get much time to talk privately, not that either of us was really in the mood for it, but I wondered how he'd known we could get away, and if he had any clue what had happened.
#
Twenty-four hours later, we were back home. I felt our time away must've been one long nightmare, and neither of us was quite back to feeling like himself, but we were once again safe, and Kevin was hiring security guards to go with us whenever we had to leave the building.
The gunman and the two strangers from that night had cleared out. The taxi driver alone had been caught. He was currently under protective custody in the hospital and would be incarcerated as soon as possible on kidnapping charges.
Since the man wanting to con us into working for someone else hadn't told us who he was connected to, we had no further leads to offer the ESRB or the police.
From what I understood, the ESRB wanted to keep hold of our kidnapper until he'd given them some good information, and so far, he wasn't talking. They also, of course, wanted to be hard on someone who would try to hurt their agents.
They were probably going to lock him up and throw away the key, which should've made me feel better than it did.
Kevin said the smug man had almost certainly been some kind of fixer for a corporation, trying to poach us from The Shardwell Group. Even the good ones sometimes skirted pretty close to the line, legally; he'd clearly crossed it.
The man who'd driven the taxi had no police record, but his name was connected with some inquiries that the ESRB and police were looking into with a fine-toothed comb.
Kevin was fascinated with the whole "empath with no emotions" thing, and asked me about my theories.
I had some, but they were all scary. So, when I wasn't talking to him, sleeping the uneasy sleep of the emotionally traumatized, or trying to comfort and stay near Ellery (which was most of the time, to be honest), I decided to call the person I hadn't really wanted to talk to for some time.
Colin Gillis was my ex from the ESRB. I'd met him there, and we'd ended up together. He worked there, and he was a good guy, gentle and kind and hot. He'd been a decent boyfriend, too. I still felt bad about the way things had ended. I'd been a jerk and scared him off, rather than share what I was going through. I'd preferred to be an asshole than look vulnerable and hurt.
If I'd broken down and cried and told him what I'd been feeling, I'm sure he'd have supported me through it all. But at the time, I'd rather have slit my wrists than do that. And to be perfectly honest, I'd come closer to doing that than I had to opening up with Colin.
I felt like Colin was a 'could've been' and 'close but no cigar,' and yet more evidence that I was really good at sabotaging relationships. I'd had a chance with him, an actual chance. But I couldn't handle that, and he couldn't be there for me in the way I needed.
Thinking about Colin was always a bag of mixed, but mostly sad, emotions. I felt like such a loser when I thought about him.
Now I had Ellery and, of course, I shouldn't care. But I still didn't want to talk to him very much. He was, however, someone I could trust to give me an honest answer about things. At least I thought so. He was good at his job. If this was a special new empath talent I hadn't heard about, I wanted to know.
When Ellery dropped off on the couch after a hot shower and some mindless TV, I extricated myself carefully from him and headed out to the kitchenette with my phone. (My new phone — Erin had replaced them for us pretty quickly.)
"Hello?" said Colin, sounding distracted. "Who is this?"
"Hi, Colin," I said, feeling sheepish and annoyed. Like I had something to apologize for, but hadn't I already done it? Why should I feel ashamed forever? Just because I sucked as a boyfriend and, sometimes, as a human being?
"Um, Peter. Hello." He seemed to be trying to pull himself together . . . not entirely successfully. "I had no idea you would call."
"Well, I'd have given you a warning call, but that would've involved calling," I said dryly.
"I guess so." He sounded embarrassed rather than amused.
I decided to cut out the attempts at humor and get down to it. "I doubt you've seen the report, but something strange happened to — me and . . . and my boyfriend. I need your opinion on something."
"I'm listening." He sounded cautious but professional.
"Thank you." I heaved a relieved sigh, and the story came tumbling out of me, pouring into his ear across the phone line. When I came to the part about not sensing the other empath, he drew in a sharp breath.
"He could be a very high-level empath," said Colin. "If he was blocking your ability to sense his emotions. That's a big deal — really hard to do. I'll have to check into it and see if we know of anyone who could do such a thing."
"Maybe he was depressed and not feeling much of anything?"
Colin was silent for a moment, thinking about it hard. I liked that about him, that he'd actually think things through instead of insisting he already knew everything. "It's possible, I suppose," he said cautiously. "It could certainly register differently for different empaths. But compare what you read from him to what you feel when you sense someone is very depressed — even suicidal. How does it compare?"
I was silent a moment, digesting this. He had a point. Even a deeply depressed person who felt blank and empty gave off more emotion than that guy had.
It cleared the whole thing up — and made it much scarier for me, knowing there was such a strong empath out there, possibly working with people who wanted Ellery (and me, if they had to take me). Nobody was taking Ell away from me, of that I was sure. He needed the safety and security of this job and this life, a place he'd finally managed to feel safe after a long hard life of never feeling safe. I couldn't let anyone take him away from that.
He was already a mess from our ordeal. But if the empath was that strong . . . There was no telling if I'd be able to outwit him or sense things from him, and if they sent him after us . . .
But who sent an empath after someone? We had a job to do and we did it, but most of us weren't great shakes in the spying and kidnapping department. I mean, we weren't cut out for causing harm on purpose.
"Pete?" said Colin cautiously. "Are you still there?"
I swallowed, brushing a hand across my closed eyes, trying to breathe evenly. "Um, yes. Just having a mini-freak-out," I admitted, scrubbing a hand nervously over my face and grimacing. "I don't like the idea of someone being able to block me, and maybe worse."
"Well," said Colin, "I'll do some research on the matter and see what I can find about an empath who might meet the description you've given. They're probably already researching things, but I can stay in contact with you and let you know if we're getting close to something. To my knowledge, there are no known empaths of that level. Which, to me, is exciting. It means there might be another really strong empath out there, and if we find him and train him, why, it would be amazing."
Oh, good. He was already trained well enough to scare me.
"Yeah, well, I just hope we're safe."
"You are," said Colin, his voice warm, holding a great depth of comfort, as if he was trying to push it through the phone to me.
I closed my eyes, throat tight with remembered tenderness from and towards this man. I'd fucked it up — not unusual for me — but he was a good man, and he'd been kind to me. I think he'd even loved me once. It was painful to have him still being kind, after everything.
"Well, thanks," I said awkwardly.
After a few more brief words, we ended the call. I stood there feeling off-balance. Things had happened so quickly, I hadn't really been able to process any of it very well. I still felt shaken, even though nothing was wrong anymore. It wasn't as though I'd been steely and cool during the encounter, and was now having a little breakdown, the way it seemed to be for Ellery. Nope; I'd panicked then and I was panicking again now. I felt like a weak idiot.
I bumped a hand against my forehead, frowning, wishing I could get my thoughts into a better place. It wasn't like me to be afraid. I also hated having to count on other people to protect me and the man I loved. Even going to Colin was in some ways humiliating. I was going to my ex for help . . .
"Peter?" said Ellery, soft and cautious, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. He hesitated, then padded into the room and wrapped his arms around me from behind. It felt good, being enveloped by his gentle embrace. He was warm, comforting. "I heard voices," he said, pressing his face against my back, nuzzling me through my t-shirt.
"Yeah. I called someone at the ESRB about the empath guy. I don't know what's going on, and I need to."
"Mm." He held me, pressed close. I could feel his warmth against me. He felt very real. "Come to bed?" he asked.
"Are you up for sex?" I arched a brow, surprised. He was still shaken from the whole ordeal, as far as I could tell. No way did I want to have a go at sex if he might have a panic attack partway through.
"Mm, maybe. But hold me? Or I'll hold you? We can decide once we're there."
I didn't hesitate this time. I put my phone down and headed after him to the bedroom. We climbed into bed together. He was still sleepy, loose-muscled, loveable and cuddly like this. It was an ego boost to have his trust.
He settled into my arms, face against my chest, already starting to fall asleep again. He fit against me just right, somehow. I wasn't used to people falling asleep with me, or even sharing a bed for more than sex. I hadn't had that often before Ellery. Now it was starting to become not only familiar, but terrifyingly necessary to have him here.
I felt myself relaxing in his comfortable embrace. Sex didn't seem to be in the cards. As he drifted off, beginning to snort softly through his nose, I wondered if I should've told him I'd been talking to my ex. I'd told him the truth — I had been calling someone at the ESRB — but I hadn't told him the whole truth.
Would he want to know? Would he feel like I was lying, that I'd neglected to mention it? Well, I could tell him tomorrow. And maybe I would. I didn't need things piling up between us. It was becoming abundantly clear to me that we were the ones we could count on. We needed all the trust between us that we could get.
Besides, he'd taken meeting Angel really well. They'd even gotten along better than I really would have liked. On one hand, I liked the lack of jealousy, but on the other, I wasn't sure about this whole new BFF status they seemed to be working towards.
Well, he probably wouldn't be hanging around any of my exes for long, and neither would I. And really, it was all a learning experience. If part of me was still afraid to really give a hundred percent to this relationship, most of me was working really hard and glad to be in it, glad to have Ell's trust and love, and loving him back the best I could.
I didn't think I had a whole heart anymore. It had been broken too many times. But what I did have, I could give to him, even if it was nervously and in small bits. Love could be agonizing; it left me so vulnerable. But I was learning.
Even little things like whether or not he would become jealous were important to the growth of our relationship. I found myself wondering what he'd say, and fell asleep thinking of that instead of our recent ordeal. It was a relief, and sleep a release from stress and fear.
#
Kevin absolutely put his foot down; we would not be leaving the building without a security guard.
"Possibly two," he said, looking at me closely, almost frowning. He was really worried — I could feel that — but he looked grumpy indeed. Then he added more quietly, "Please don't fight me on this, Pete."
So I didn't. I didn't like it, but I gave in. It was pretty hard not to, for Kevin.
Perversely, I wanted to go out more now than ever. Before, when it wasn't an issue, I'd rarely left the building. Now I clawed at freedom, even as little as going out for a hotdog at a food truck when we had much better choices here.
I dreaded becoming trapped, seeing my world shrink. It wasn't just a dread of outside forces conspiring. I knew Kev wouldn't ever really wrap me up in bubble wrap, even if he sometimes gave me the impression that he wanted to.
No, I was afraid that the restrictions and vague danger would combine with my fear and keep me building-bound, or close to it. I didn't want to see my world shrink the way it had when I was working with the cops. There, nobody had restricted my movements, but I'd gotten depressed, had no friends at the workplace, and had generally felt my world getting smaller and darker all the time.
Here I had so much. But if I stopped leaving, my world would still shrink, and I'd be ashamed of myself.
To his credit, Kev made the new protections easy for me to deal with. There was no asking for permission or giving people warning when I wanted to leave. I just left, and a security officer tagged along behind me, alert to danger, but in no way telling me what to do or trying to steer me.
Any officer on duty in the lobby was authorized to guard me — there was always more than one working — but I quickly acquired a favorite. Or rather, he seemed to acquire me. He was a bit too good-looking (and tall) for my peace of mind, but he had a genial temperament and looked forward to the mix-up in his routine.
He liked going for a brisk walk through the city, and I was a great excuse. He felt alive and alert, and like he was somebody's bodyguard, maybe in the presidential detail.
He didn't say any of these things, of course; I got them off him pretty easily anyway. He was pleasant company, because he didn't talk a lot or feel slighted if I didn't want to communicate, but his thoughts and emotions were easy and pleasant for the most part. He had a youthful outlook on life, though he couldn't have been much younger than I was. He didn't seem disillusioned by life, and he secretly loved his job.
He also had no problem with me, which was nice from a strong man carrying pepper spray and a concealed handgun. Really, though, Kev had been right. People working at The Shardwell Group didn't tend to be bigots and they had mostly accepted me right away. The few who felt unhappy about me kept it to themselves. I didn't have to pry to feel it, but at the same time, it wasn't any of my business as long as they kept it to themselves and didn't antagonize me.
Not that I thought Kev would fire anyone because I said they didn't like me. But I wasn't going to find out.
After a bit, Ell wanted to tag along when I went out. I didn't mind — I loved his company — but it made me unhappy the way he felt about it. He wasn't coming along because he wanted to, but because he was afraid.
He didn't come right out and tell me, but I felt the jump of fear inside him whenever we got ready to leave. It grew as a steady sense of dread till we were outside. I thought that must be what agoraphobic people felt going outside, or nearly so. He didn't quite have a panic attack, but he wasn't enjoying himself. He wrapped himself tightly in his pea coat and kept pace with me as best he could, looking slim and handsome and deeply jittery.
It made me sad that he didn't trust me to go out alone. I really didn't think he was trying to conquer his fear. I thought he was afraid of leaving me alone — that I'd walk away from the job, or flirt with the security guy and leave him, or get captured if I didn't have him to look out for me. His talent worked when he was close to someone, and he had probably convinced himself that he was keeping me safe by sticking close, but I knew that wasn't true.
He'd always know if I was in danger. Time and space wouldn't change that, and he knew it. No, this was about something else. I didn't like it. But, at the same time, I liked spending time with him, so I wasn't going to confront him about it.
He really was being brave, and I never wanted to discourage that, or quash his fledgling attempts to take better care of himself. My Ellery had gone through some tough shit in his life. It had pretty much broken his already sensitive spirits. For a man who doubted himself, who wasn't very strong physically, and who had been drugged and institutionalized for his visions and impressions — well, he had a lot to overcome.
And he loved me very much. That fact was never far from my mind and heart. I knew it was true; I didn't always know how to handle it, though. It's a pretty big deal, knowing someone loves you so much. It's kind of scary.
At any rate, he was trying, he was brave, and even if his reasons irritated me, I appreciated his company on my treks and wanderings through the big bad city. He was always good company. Sometimes he smiled at me in a way that made me feel like my heart was getting too big and too warm to stay inside my body, and I'd find myself smiling back, and really believing we could be together forever . . .
One day we were walking along the streets during a not very crowded time of day — after morning rush hour, before lunchtime — and young Fred was walking along behind us, giving us a bit of privacy. We were heading over to the park for a walk and thinking about whether we wanted to get lunch there or go home to eat at the buffet.
There was a brief lull in the conversation, and we were walking in silence together in that companionable way you do with someone you're close to, quiet without being angry or racking your brain for conversation. Peaceful.
If I'd thought about it, I'd have been feeling happy. I suppose I was feeling happy, the contented kind of happy where you're not really thinking about it, simply existing, being alive. Not wishing for something else, just . . . there. And you realize afterwards you were pretty happy at the time. Maybe you even feel happy remembering it. But you're not really thinking how happy you are in the moment, except in rare, self-conscious circumstances. But it's the best kind of happiness, I think. If you don't have to notice it and squeeze every second out of it desperately, then it means you have enough to go around. Happiness is there in your life, like leaves thick on the ground in fall.
Anyway, we were walking along happily (I later realized), Ellery on my left, when someone fell into step on my right side and hooked an arm through mine. I startled at this dangerous intimacy and tried to pull away. He applied force.
I looked at him in shock and did a double-take. I recognized this man; he was the emotionless person who was probably a really strong empath. More powerful than I was, and with lots of unexplored talents. Like controlling people, perhaps.
I couldn't sense him at all. He was as emotionally absent as a block of wood. I had no sensations of that sort off him at all. But I could see him; I could feel his arm on mine.
My companions — Ellery and the bodyguard Fred — didn't seem to even see him. At any rate, they hadn't noticed anything wrong and both were giving off the same relaxed emotions they had a moment ago.
I, needless to say, was not.
The stranger saw my reaction and smiled. It was deeply creepy to me to see someone smile — and from this close — but not get any reading at all of what they were actually feeling. Smiles are always accompanied by a feeling, whether it matches or is at odds with the projected emotion. They're very telling; they mean a lot. His was as useless as a TV actor's smile. It read to me as literally nothing — a total blank — but could've meant anything.
"Relax. I'm not gonna hurt you. And I won't be here long."
"Don't do this," I said.
Now Fred and Ellery were starting to get concerned, but only mildly, and only about me. They had no clue about our visitor.
"Please, please, go away," I said, trying to tug my arm free.
"Relax," said the stranger. "I just wanted to tell you something."
"Sir? Are you all right?" asked Fred, coming closer and reaching for his weapon. He didn't draw it, though. With his other hand, he touched my shoulder. It seemed meant to reassure me he was there, that I was safe.
I wasn't. None of us were.
"What do you want?" I was trembling, shamefully so — my voice, my whole body. I felt like my legs weren't going to be able to hold me up. I didn't react like this, I told myself — not to people, not to situations. Certainly not to other talented individuals. But I couldn't remember having been more afraid in a long, long time. Maybe when I'd had my car accident, right before the blackout, the split second when I knew I couldn't stop it, when it was unavoidable but I hadn't hit yet, and I'd thought, Shit. This is going to hurt.
I was that frightened now.
"My boss wants your boyfriend," said the stranger. He was taller than I was, with tousled, straw-colored blond hair and quiet gray eyes behind trim glasses. He wasn't the kind of person I would normally be afraid of. He was slim and rangy, and generally looked like a quiet person. He was wearing jeans and an old college sweatshirt, and looked like the sort of person you wouldn't glance at twice if you saw him in a library hunched over a book or computer. He would be so into it he definitely wouldn't notice you.
Instead I was facing him here, unseen by others and trembling. "Go away," I mouthed. "Leave us alone."
"My boss usually gets what he wants," said my new arch-enemy. He gave me a little tilt of the head and a slight frown, as if he was acknowledging my problem with that. "You seem like an okay guy, so I'm warning you. Be careful. Maybe don't go for walks anymore." He gave me a quick wink — and then looked past me, his expression lightening and growing less serious.
He was looking at Ellery with a kind of lit-up fondness.
Ell was touching my arm now, and his words filtered through to me finally. "Peter. Pete. Let's go home. Come on, you're all right. Come on, sweetheart." He radiated concern for me, acting so strange out on the street. He tugged at my arm, insistent but gentle.
"He's very loyal," said the gray-eyed man. "I admire that in a man."
"Get your own boyfriend!" I snapped.
He drew back from me, one eye twitching for an instant. It looked as though I'd hit a nerve — although of course I couldn't tell if I actually had or not. He raised his brows extravagantly. "I'm not gay," he said, a firm, slightly haughty statement. He sounded very sure of himself.
I made a wordless sound and tried to put myself more firmly between him and my Ellery. I was ready to fight the man with my bare hands, claw his eyes out to keep him from trying to steal Ellery. From trying to take him over with his creepy mind control.
"I wouldn't." His brows drew together, as if he was hurt by the idea I'd had of him as some kind of mega-villain controlling people's actions. But really, if he could keep them from even seeing him . . .
"That's different. It's like a magic trick," he explained impatiently. "I can't force someone to do something they don't want to do any more than you can hypnotize someone to do something they don't want to do."
"But they can't see you."
I was growing distracted from my fear and rage; I really did want to understand, despite myself. It wasn't usual for me to have someone I didn't understand and was afraid of. One or the other, maybe, but usually not either one for long. I was too skilled an empath, and too nosy a person, to go long without ferreting out information and impressions and knowledge. And I was too stubborn to be afraid of anyone for long, even if they could (and would, and did) pound my face in.
He waved it away. "They don't notice me," he explained. "They can see me, they just don't notice me. It's all in the head."
"Ellery, look at him," I demanded, clutching at my boyfriend.
He and Fred were trying to talk to me, cajoling me as if I were a crazy person. Their attention was all on me. I tried to steer Ell's gaze to look at what must seem like the space beside me. But even though he should've been curious about what I was looking at, talking to, and perhaps trying to figure out — running a hand through the empty air, as would be the first instinct of most people — he and Fred were both totally focused on me, on my actions, and not on what might be causing them.
"Ellery, look," I commanded, taking his face in my hands, trying to show him. But he just looked at me, searching my gaze, his soulful eyes worried and intent. He did look at me like that a lot anyway, to be fair — like I was the most important person in his world, the one most worth paying attention to. That was usually a flattering feeling.
He reached up and touched my cheek softly. "Let's go home, Peter," he said, very gently indeed.
I had a quick glimpse of mirth from Gray Eyes — the first hint of emotion he'd given me during this meeting. I whirled to look at him again, but he'd released me and was striding away. He gave me a two-fingered salute, like a sailor. He made long strides and was leaving quickly.
"Take care of him," said the empath.
I tried to start after him, but Fred and Ellery held me back between them. Well, mostly Fred. I was a little stronger than Ellery, but Fred was probably stronger than both of us put together. At any rate, they had a firm grip on me now and were being insistent. I soon gave up struggling. It was useless and humiliating to try to get free from someone when you had no hope of doing so. It only made people laugh.
"You didn't see him at all?" I turned to them, demanding an answer. My feathers were ruffled and my heart was beating extra hard.
"See who?" asked Ellery, glancing around now, and I knew we were far away enough that Gray Eyes' spell of control was broken.
Good riddance to bad rubbish.
#
I went over the whole thing so many times I was completely sick of it. Ellery was unnerved and sympathetic. He held me while I told him, to make it easier for me. He supported me and believed me, and was shocked by the fact that he simply hadn't noticed the man — and hadn't questioned the empty air I'd been talking to with such distress.
"It didn't even register," he said. "I knew there was nothing there, so I thought you must be having some kind of symptoms." He shook his head in disbelief. "It sounds so strange now that I couldn't notice, that I was so sure. But I guess I felt like I really had already checked, or something. I really didn't see him."
The security staff was less quick to believe me. I had to tell them the story multiple times, too. And they took notes.
Kevin was the one who really surprised me, though. He not only made me tell the story over and over again, pressing me for details and cross-questioning me, trying to squeeze every drop out of my memory, past the emotion of the moment and before I forgot, but he was genuinely distressed and upset.
I knew Ellery and I were important to him, but the sense of loss he felt at the idea of someone stealing one of us away — the intense feelings it gave him were nearly unbearable. I began to grow uncomfortable and had to take a break. I left him pacing his main office, running a hand through his hair, trying to calm down. But he was deeply distressed.
He got himself more under control after a bit, but he couldn't hide his true feelings from me. They roiled under his calmer, more professional exterior. He could smooth his hair, he could smooth his features, but he couldn't smooth his heart. He was agonizingly worried, and superstitiously afraid something dreadful was going to happen. It had been too good to be true; there was no way to keep the two of us working for the company, or to keep my friendship . . .
I did what I could to reassure him, but it wasn't enough.
However, the next time I went to take a walk, he stopped me firmly. "No," he said, looking me in the eyes with a desperate insistence. "Don't leave the building till we're sure we can protect you better."
I was incensed and made sure he knew it. "Really? You're going there? Last I heard, I'm still a free person, not a slave. Just an employee." I made as if to leave again, and he stopped me this time by catching hold of my arm.
I wanted to give him what for, but I saw the agony in his eyes. I felt it in his heart, too, slipping out more than ever. I stared at him.
"Please, Pete," he said quietly. "I couldn't stand it if something happened to you, after everything. We've tried hard to keep you safe and free, but it's not safe right now. This isn't forever. We'll figure it out . . ."
I gave in that day.
The ESRB had ideas about the whole thing as well, and my ex in particular was fascinated.
They began looking in earnest for this powerful empath. I thought it was ironic. He wasn't going to be found unless he wanted to be — unless they had someone even more powerful who'd be immune to his powers.
So there was lots of worry from Kev, lots of questions from security and the ESRB, and lots of my own private worries that I tried very hard to keep hidden. Ellery knew, though, or at least guessed some of it. He was worried about me. Not about danger, or the powerful empath, or even about losing me. He saw how I was reacting to things, and, even though I thought I was keeping my stress, frustration, worry, and anger to myself, he knew.
It was strange being read by someone else. Despite my ease with my own official abilities, for the first time I began to understand how someone else might feel when I could tell how they felt in a situation where they wished I couldn't. In the past, few people (if any) had known me well enough to guess how I was feeling if I didn't really work hard to clue them in.
I thought of some of my boyfriends in the past, who had been pretty willfully ignorant about anything and everything I was feeling. It had to be about them (or sex) all the time, or they weren't interested. I guessed I'd been used to that. I'd never expected anyone to know or care how I felt. Perhaps because I'd been aware, all my life, that most people didn't and never would.
But Ellery cared, and he could, in some way or another, see through me to how upset I really was. Still, he didn't force me to talk about it. He didn't even ask me to. But he watched me, and he felt concern and love. I could read it so strongly off him sometimes, it really startled me. He put more time and effort into what I began to think of as caretaking activities. More time being near me, making sure I'd eaten, getting me coffee, snuggling on the couch and watching a movie. He tried to make sure I rested enough, ate enough, stayed active. He seemed really worried I might fall into depression if I wasn't very careful, and he had the right end of the stick there.
I was starting to feel trapped, and sad for no reason, and bad things weighed more heavily on my mind, sad thoughts lasting longer and dragging me further down than normal. I tended to be cynical but fairly upbeat most of the time. When I got depressed — as I'd done after my car accident, and while working for the police — I got really, really depressed.
His caretaking activities and worries weren't exactly welcome, but they did help. He reminded me to look after myself physically while I was struggling emotionally, and above all, he didn't let me be alone too much. The less time I spent locked in my own thoughts, the less sad I was. I hated being that predictable, and I wondered sometimes how he was reading me, since he had no empathic talent of his own. This must be what it was like to have a good relationship. You got to know one another well enough, even without empath skills, that you could tell when something was wrong with the other person in the relationship. It seemed sad and ironic that I hadn't known that until now.
I'd never expected much from my boyfriends in the past, my relationships of any sort. Even kindness and compassion had felt like a lot to ask, when I could tell how impatient and selfish and bored people were inside, even when they pretended to care. But not everyone was like that; I was learning that. People did care about me now, even if there weren't many of them. Ironic that it felt like another kind of confinement to me at times. Now I had even more ways to fail.
I was, however, ashamed that I'd done such a poor job of boyfriend-finding that even my very low expectations had often been dashed. There was the boyfriend who had broken up with me on the way to the bar and proceeded to go after the hottest youngest guy in the room while I was still reeling. There was the "boyfriend" who'd made me hide in a closet when his unbeknownst-to-me actual boyfriend returned unexpectedly. The guy who'd wanted me to dress up in special outfits, and could be pretty damn demanding, yet didn't believe I'd ever be good enough to meet his family. Somehow these acts of jerkiness had managed to keep surprising me, even though I'd thought I was world-weary about the whole 'good boyfriend' thing. I'd never actually achieved that confident indifference or ability to shrug it off.
Why had I ended up with so many jerks, especially when I should be better than average at finding people to trust and care about? Had I been too eager? Too quick to settle? Too worried I'd never find the right guy for me? I felt ashamed whenever I thought about it too much. The past was the past; it needed to stay there. Forcibly if necessary.
When Ellery put his hand on my thigh, a gentle reminder that he was there and supporting me, it sometimes meant a hint for sex, but just as often meant he was simply enjoying being with me and the fact that he could touch me without me minding. He liked me; he reveled in being near me and with me. It was nice to feel, if still a little overwhelming sometimes.
He'd given me everything, as far as I could tell. If he harbored worries about the future when I went missing or left him for a time, he still trusted in our forever. He believed in our happiness; he believed in and loved me. He had no real reservations on the subject. This, finally, was how his life was meant to be: spent with me. He'd finally reached a large part of his happy ending. He was safe, had a job he was good at, and most importantly to him, he had me, the man he was destined to be with for the rest of his life, more or less.
On one level his contentment made me feel more content, as well. It's hard not to be affected by any emotion you're around a lot, and this was at least a very positive, happy emotion — contentment. Most people aren't very content, so it was novel as well as pleasant, and of course it was flattering to be a big part of the reason for Ell's contentment and happiness.
But I had no such inner assurance that my life was now right and that I'd reached a happily-ever-after. I still had doubts, sometimes waking up in the middle of the night in a sweaty panic. If I was lucky, it didn't wake Ellery. I hated lying to him about things, but there was no way I meant to tell him I was frightened about our relationship, and terrified about how much of myself I'd already given to him. About how devastated I'd be if things didn't work out.
He wouldn't understand; he'd probably take it personally. After all, he'd told me we were meant to be together, and I believed his gifts about other things. I couldn't, on some level, believe him about this. Or if I believed it intellectually, which I always wanted to and sometimes did, then I couldn't believe it in my emotions, which had learned the hard way that any time I let down my guard and really loved someone, life would give me a punch in the face and laugh at my gullibility.
I didn't want that now; I really, really didn't want that now. Losing Ellery — when I was starting to find him essential, even as much as that terrified me — was a pain I could barely contemplate, yet my stupid brain insisted I think about it or spent so much effect and energy pushing it aside from conscious thought that it tormented me in my subconscious — dreams and general twitchiness.
We still got regular counseling, both together (relationship-wise) and separately (job-related and for mental health). I was pretty bored with the whole baring-your-soul shtick, but I stuck it out for Ellery and Kevin.
Overall, we got through the days when the investigation, search, and security were at their highest. I was starting to think it was all a bit silly, to be honest. Yes, it had seemed like a big deal at the time — meeting a powerful empath who might or might not have had designs on my boyfriend, and who could make people not see him — but familiarity breeds contempt, and it was starting to seem pretty stupid, the way we were all up in arms.
Eventually Kev relented and said I could go out as long as I took two guards this time and was armed (with my very own pepper spray).
Kev suggested, trying to word it carefully, that perhaps Ellery should stay behind — a suggestion that Ell seized on with a certain amount of relief. He was very glad to stay in the protection of the building and the company. Sometimes it seemed to me that Ell didn't have the same drive for independence that I did. Even I only had it sometimes, but Ell? Ell seemed glad to be cared for and protected. He trusted Kev and Erin to know when and where he should travel, how often he needed vacations, and whether it was safe to do this or that.
For a man who read the future (sometimes), it seemed odd to me that he could give up so much control over his own life to others. But maybe the truth was that he hadn't had much control over his own life for some time, if ever, and he felt safer knowing he was at least working with benevolent people who wanted him safe and happy so he could keep working for them. Probably even poor conditions would've seemed like a big step up compared to being locked up for a supposed mental illness.
Not that they did treat us badly; not at all. There was stress involved with his job, but they also paid well, protected him better than average, and tried to meet (and even anticipate) his every need. I suspect if anyone had known I was his future boyfriend, they'd have hired me just for that.
For my sake, I was glad that wasn't the case. I liked working here, but it would've killed something in me if I had just been here because he needed me. I needed to be my own man too, even if I did let people make many of my decisions for me now.
I was so fed up with feeling like a pampered prisoner or pet that I went out on the first day I was finally allowed to. I didn't feel like going out, to be honest. I was too tired from the last couple of days, and there was nothing I wanted to see outside on this overcast, gray, drizzly day. But, damn it, I was going outside and that was that!
I was going for a walk. Leash not visible but there all the same.
In this foul mood, I stomped through the city and into the drizzling, damp park. I didn't enjoy much of that walk, and from the feelings my two bodyguards were projecting, they weren't having the time of their lives either. But I went, and nothing happened.
Ell and Kev were super relieved when I got back, so I knew they'd worried for me. But it was fine. And it was fine again the next day, and the day after that. By the time I'd been taking regular walks (fortunately most of them in better weather than that first day) for a week or so, they'd gotten over a lot of their fear. I think they'd decided that Ellery had been the deciding factor for that empath's approach. Or perhaps that he'd moved on to somewhere safer, since lots of people were looking for him.
At any rate, I was clearly fairly safe although no one was ready to lower the precautions, such as they were. Some of these precautions included more security in the building so nobody could sneak past without being noticed — lots of security cameras and fancy systems upgraded to help with this. I don't even want to know what it might've cost, although Kev said they'd been due for some upgrades anyway.
"You never know when thieves will find a new way to get around the system," he told me. "And there's valuable information in this building that could be sold for massive amounts of money to the right buyer."
"Not, like, chemical weapons or something?" I'd stared at him, growing concerned.
"Ha. No, only medical research. But that's pretty valuable, you know." He'd clapped me on the shoulder, a gesture I always found comforting. I wondered if he'd guessed. He did seem to do it more when I was feeling stressed or nervous.
I also put in more time in the gym to fight back the depression I was starting to fall into. It seemed to help. I'd always had a lot of restless energy, and it did me good to find uses for it.
Strangely, though, after I'd gotten over my initial shock, I found myself thinking about the stronger empath, wondering about him. Hell, I didn't even know his name, and I wanted to. I wanted to meet him again when Ellery wasn't there so I didn't have to worry and feel defensive.
I'd always been too damn nosy for my own good.
I felt guilty about wanting to see him again, and then I analyzed it. By now I'd had enough counseling to be able to counsel myself sometimes, about some things, talking through my emotions the way my therapist would've made me.
I'd rarely known other empaths, had never had any real friends or enemies amongst them. I'd never known someone I couldn't read before. Of course I was curious, and there was nothing wrong with that. I wasn't going to endanger myself or Ellery by seeking him out, but that curiosity was nothing to feel guilty over.
The guilt lifted, and with it, the obsessed wonderings. I might never see him again, and that was okay. It was okay if there was someone in the world I couldn't read, who was an enigma to me, who denied being gay but not very convincingly. Usually I knew if people were telling the truth; with him, I'd had to guess. I told myself I'd guessed right; he was a closet case.
Another good reason I shouldn't mind never seeing him again.
A month passed, then another two weeks, and one day Kev said, "No, no work today, you two need a break. Where do you want to go?"
Ellery sidled nearer to me, unable to avoid that sudden burst of panic that always came when someone wanted a snap decision from him. For an awful moment, his fear spiked and his mind went blank, the awful, emotional "I can't do this" of a terrified student facing a test he'd known the answers to only moments before, only to find them all gone.
I turned to Ell and drew him to me, proud of myself. Stuff like this — reaching to comfort him, moving towards him instead of away when one of us was upset — was becoming natural. It was deliberate, but I didn't have to think it through and figure it out first. I just did it.
Protecting Ell was natural to me, and reassuring him was becoming a lot easier than it had been when we were first together and I didn't have any idea what I was doing most of the time.
He calmed quickly with a few ragged breaths, letting himself lean against me then looking up with a sheepish, smiling apology in his eyes. If I was learning how to handle the sudden panic, he was, too. He lived through it, got over it as best and as quickly as he could, and didn't let it spoil his day.
Panic was a message, not something shameful. It meant 'slow down, calm down.' He was learning to take that message and work with it, instead of seeing panic as a personal failure. It wasn't; it was something he was continuing to work through. Ninety percent of the time, he was fine.
"I'm sorry," said Kevin, speaking softly. "Is now not a good time, or was it the surprise?" He looked at both of us, alert and concerned. He knew he'd triggered that burst of fear, but he didn't understand why. Probably none of us did, not completely.
Ell looked at me and shook his head. He wasn't up to explaining yet, and I felt that he wanted me to. But at the same time, he didn't necessarily have anything against a vacation. I was glad I could read him well enough to understand what he meant.
He loved vacations. He got lots of them — enough that the average person would be extremely jealous of his time on tropical islands. But it was an important part of the way The Shardwell Group looked after him. Vacations helped Ellery de-stress and let him continue to function without having an emotional or mental breakdown over the strain of his abilities and the people he knew were counting on him all the time to run interference against possible difficulties in future events. No one else could really do his job.
Jobs, money, and, frankly, lives depended on him not missing something important. For an already fragile person like Ellery who'd lived through a lot of bad shit in his life, it was a heavy burden to bear, and sometimes he had to get away from it. Kevin and Erin were good at spotting when he needed to, and I believed Kev was correct now. All the same, I kept my arm around Ellery as I picked through the words that might explain this.
I kept my arm loosely around him, and it felt good. It was a pleasure to have him leaning against me, trusting me. His slim body was muscular and warm. I felt calmness replacing his anxiety, trust instead of fear. He watched me as I spoke.
Kev watched me, too, believing me, trusting me as he always did. That felt good as well. "It's not that we don't want to go. Vacations are always fun. I for one would love to. But Ellery's not sure where to go and can't pick somewhere really quickly. Maybe we can talk about it. You can suggest somewhere, or he and I will decide together later." I was being tactful; I would probably end up deciding so he wouldn't have to face any more panic over it. He'd enjoy wherever we ended up going.
After we'd almost gotten kidnapped from his favorite resort, there had been more choices added and greater security at all of them. We'd probably still end up going back there, though. It was perfectly safe — an artificial little island with a beautiful resort and beach area. It was where we'd first made love — where we'd become an item.
I had good memories of the place despite the later danger, which frankly hadn't been about the resort anyway but a plot inside the company, a coup in the making that had involved getting us out of the way and then going after Kevin.
I looked at Ell, and he nodded quickly, leaning against me more closely — almost a snuggle. I gave him a quick, decisive nod back and drew my arm around him more snugly. "So, we'll take lunch to talk about it, okay?"
Kevin smiled, and it made the area around his eyes crease. "That's fine, Pete. I'm sorry for the surprise, Ellery." He meant it; he held no disdain for Ell. Perhaps because he knew, in some ways even better than I did, all the things Ellery had been through. I knew some of the vague outlines of Ellery's life growing up and getting tossed into and out of mental institutions. We rarely discussed the actual details because he didn't want to.
Kevin, on the other hand, had the files — thick files — from Ell's time before the ESRB, and had read all of them, grimly, angrily. He'd once confessed in a quiet moment to me that he'd been in tears and had had to get drunk to finish them. If he felt protective and possessive of me, he did of Ellery as well.
The two of them weren't as close as Kev and I were — and certainly not as close as Ell and I — but there was a steady, sturdy relationship of trust there, and Ellery, on his worst days, the ones when he could barely get out of bed, had known Kevin was on his side and wasn't going to hurt him or discard him.
Kevin was really a very nice person, always thinking of ways to help us get and stay happy and healthy. Of course, I might have been biased. Aside from Ellery, he was the best male friend I'd ever had.
Men usually either wanted to sleep with me or else had a knee-jerk reaction of hating me and wanting to smack me across the mouth for being too gay, or having an annoying personality and a restless streak. Kevin had never fit into either of those categories. If he wasn't asexual, he did a good job of seeming like it. He definitely had no sexual interest in me, but I also didn't annoy him at all. He liked me.
That was so incredibly rare and precious for me. Someone liking me without sexual interest, without getting fed up with me, not wanting to grind his teeth or having to clench his fists to contain his growing rage. There are people who annoyed Kev; the man was still human. But I'd never been one of them. Never. When Kevin thought about me, he felt . . . light inside. Happy. Honored.
I worked with him, and he trusted me, and he liked me. He considered me a friend, as I considered him. I mean, we tried to stay professional — we worked together; it was an important job, blah blah — but there was so much more underneath. When we had to travel for work, he let me put my head on his shoulder and fall asleep. I felt so incredibly safe with him, and I loved that feeling.
There hadn't been too many steady people in my life who continued to like me no matter what. I was a big fan of Kevin, and probably everybody around us knew it. Many of them seemed to think we were having sex, and wondered what kind of odd three-way relationship we had going on here, but that didn't bother me.
I wasn't offended by the rumor that I was having sex with Kevin. He was attractive enough, if not my type. It just wasn't true, and it was never going to be. For me, having a friend was so much more important than having another person I was attracted to, or vice versa. There were a lot of hot men in the world. I'd be fine with never noticing any of them again, now that I had my own guy.
That wasn't going to happen; I'd always notice, although I planned to stay faithful to Ellery and fight for this relationship to work. But I was going to notice; I was definitely not going to be offended by someone flirting with me or finding me attractive.
A large part of my identity, for most of my life, was about being noticed sexually, having people want me. It was the only area where I had any self-confidence or could feel good about myself for a long time.
I always knew when people were turned on by me; it helped make up for all the ways people in general hated me for all the unlikeable things about myself that I couldn't help. Being gay. Being hyperactive. Being short and cute. Being loud-mouthed and talkative. (Believe me, I'd tried to change that, and it hadn't worked. I'd have tried even if I hadn't gotten my face punched in for it more than once.)
No, I was pretty happy with the way things were between the three of us, and I wasn't ashamed to realize I loved Kevin. It was pretty cool to love someone so much without wanting to get into his pants. It wasn't like he was even related to me, making it an obligated feeling, or something I grew up into, from family always being there in one way or another.
It felt like that a lot, though. The way family's supposed to be, and sometimes is.
Now Kevin gave me a reassuring smile and a nod. "Take your time. Sorry, Ell."
"That's okay," said Ellery, still sticking close to me. "We'll let you know."
We went to lunch, and he crunched on breadsticks and nothing else, even though there were, as always, delicious and varied things to eat at the buffet. I knew from experience that he got an upset stomach after a bout of panic, and I didn't push him to eat more. The breadsticks he could handle; if someone tried to push him into a big meal, it would probably find its way back up later, and he'd be extremely miserable.
For someone with a sensitive stomach, he'd never made his peace with throwing up. It was one of the most intense miseries he knew, that feeling of hunching over a toilet bowel and retching. It hurt him both physically and mentally, and we both dreaded any stomach upsets from him.
In contrast, I had a pretty strong stomach, but there had been times in my past where I'd thrown up at least twice a week because I'd drunk too much. (I'd outgrown that eventually, thank goodness.) But I'd never felt as bad as he did about throwing up. I was more like a cat. It might happen, and it was never really pleasant, but it was over quickly and then I could get on with my day. I wasn't one to crouch trembling and crying and waiting with horror and dread for the coming pain. I also wasn't going to feel sick for the rest of the day from a quick barfing session.
We didn't actually talk about the whole vacation thing. We sat quietly and ate. I could feel him relaxing more the longer we sat. He radiated gratitude that I wasn't asking him, but really, there was nothing to talk about here. Of course we'd go on a vacation. If Kevin was suggesting it, that meant he thought we needed to go and could be spared. We both loved the beach; it wasn't going to be an issue.
Ellery had a fear of flying, but that fear was of helicopter flight, not airlines with smooth rides and lots of amenities. Sometimes we even got to take the private jet. I always felt very spoiled when we got that kind of treatment. Which we did, a lot.
It was so very strange to move from being a lower-middle-class to a poor person worrying about how I was going to pay my bills and trying to get steady work, and then becoming a valuable asset to a big company. They were willing to drop major bucks on me — in the form of salary, perks like the buffet and gym, and speedy flights to gorgeous vacation places. It still felt unreal much of the time, and I knew it did to Ellery, too.
I'm sure it had shaped our relationship in some ways — having this safe cocoon, and so much time together because we basically worked the same job. I wasn't sure if it was better or worse than if we'd met some other way. Frankly, I didn't want to know; I was content as-is.
After we had more or less finished eating, he raised his eyes to me. "Um, you wanna, um, take a break?" He didn't blush — not quite. He was really quite bold sexually, at least when it came to me. Perhaps because he knew I wanted him. How, I'm not sure; I wasn't usually so see-through. But damn it, I did, always.
Ellery wasn't the hottest guy I'd ever been with, but he was damned close. He'd become a ten all the way to me. He was slim and pretty, cute, with soulful blue eyes, a wonderful smile, a beautiful body and some lovely muscle definition despite his not being a very big guy. If you didn't mind a guy not being huge, he would almost have to be your definition of hot. And naturally I didn't mind. It was actually nicer being with someone about my height instead of feeling like a short-ass fuck toy for some big bruiser.
Of course, there was more to it. I mean, we had feelings for each other. When we slept together, it wasn't casual fun to get through the night. There was trust, warmth, tenderness — we knew what we both liked, but at the same time, we hadn't exactly fallen into a rut with each other. It was all good. And I didn't have to go to sleep alone afterwards; he still liked me in the morning.
I didn't go around in a constant state of lust, panting after my boyfriend. But I was aware of him. Sometimes I looked at him and just about needed to pinch myself. Because this hot guy so casually next to me was my boyfriend, he liked me back, and before long we were probably going to be sleeping together.
So, yeah, when he gave me that little look of his with the raised eyebrows and the sparkling, slightly humble suggestion in his eyes — and I was very aware of the feelings that went with it; it was such a turn-on being wanted — I scraped back my chair and stood up immediately. "Yep. Little break sounds great."
He laughed, soft and delighted, like he was as thrilled as I was knowing we were together, we had great sex coming up, and neither of us was going anywhere . . .
We headed back to his room. It wasn't something we discussed; our rooms were near each other and we still divided our time pretty evenly between them. I suppose if pressed, I'd have said we picked his room because he'd been feeling anxious a little while ago, and he'd probably feel slightly more comfortable there. But it was an automatic decision between the two of us, not something we thought about consciously or discussed.
We made more and more decisions like that lately. Part of it — perhaps most of it — was my empath talent. I told myself it was something all couples went through, though, that silent communication, automatic decisions without discussing them. It was less scary that way.
When I thought about it too hard, I had scary questions. Was I starting to actually read his mind? Was I losing myself as one half of a couple? Neither of these seemed to be true, but the ideas scared me. I was used to being independent.
At any rate, he was feeling good enough for sex, and that made me really happy. It turned out we both liked sex a lot.
Soon we were in bed together, the topic still unbroached, neither one of us thinking about it particularly. It had really already been decided; it was my turn to pick. If Ellery minded, he'd let me know before I told Kev. Either way, it wasn't important right now. What was important was sex. Lots of sex . . .
We got out of our clothes, not exactly breathlessly hurrying but not slowly, either. Pausing to kiss, we started feeling each other up, and got out of some more clothes. Couch or bed? I wondered, trying to guess how he felt. I couldn't hear thoughts, so I wasn't exactly sure how I knew or if I'd just imagined it, but I felt the little sliver of something-or-other that told me he wanted the bed.
Was I reading something from his emotions or his body language? Was I guessing? I didn't care right then. When he led the way to the bedroom I followed, glad I'd gotten it right, but also glad he was leading. That meant he was feeling a little confident after all. If he was feeling good enough to initiate and lead the way, that was a pretty big deal, especially on a day when anxiety had hit him with a club.
I slid a hand up his slim, firm thigh, enjoying the feel of his skin. We kissed some more, got on the bed, and he lay down on his back, wriggling into position, looking up at me with shining eyes. The confident question in his eyes was answered firmly by my lack of hesitation. Knees in the air, he was ready for me . . .
Mm, so ready . . .
A fumble for some lube — we were both tested and clean, and exclusive, so condoms weren't a big concern lately — and pretty soon I was ready for him.
He liked this. I could feel the waves of pleasure rolling off him before he was anywhere near coming. It felt so good. His pleasure and confidence fed into my own. I was riding high on the feelings, the emotions, and the way his reflected back and added to my own.
Where before, one mean, private thought could influence how shitty I felt about myself, even if I just caught the emotion of it, now I had a lover who reflected good, positive, happy, loving and supremely sexy things to me. It felt so good.
We fell into the perfect rhythm; I closed my eyes, giving it my all, giving him my all. I love you, I love you, I love you, I heard from me, and then realized I was saying it out loud.
"I love you too . . ." said Ell.
At last we fell into a sweaty heap, riding high, sleepy and feeling sated and good. He was in my arms, and he laughed, a happy, delirious sound, and put his arms around me, and kissed me very softly on the edge of my chin, below my ear. He nuzzled his face against me, still panting, shaking with laughter. He felt so happy, so triumphant.
"Me too," he repeated, wanting me to know it for sure. "Mmm." He drew me closer, and kissed me again, and then said, "We should see Kev, shouldn't we?" It was a sleepy mumble, and he didn't really mean it. That much would've been obvious to anyone, even a non-empath.
"He can wait," I said, tousling his hair gently, and then rolling off him so we could both cool down. A quick nap, a shower, and then . . . But no, I didn't want to think ahead, or about Kevin, or about anything but this moment, and stay safe here with the man I loved.
#
We all pretended that Ellery and I had talked seriously about taking a vacation and where we'd like to go. It was a polite fiction; in reality, I don't think Kev was fooled, but he also didn't care. When I said we wanted to go to the nice little resort in Switzerland we'd been to once before, he just nodded and started making it happen.
"I think we need to start paying for some of our vacations, though," I told him in a fit of guilt.
He looked up. "Nope. If you suggest it, and it's not convenient for us, I'll consider it. But, frankly, this is part of the reason The Shardwell Group was allowed to have two people from the ESRB. We pay for vacations, and we give them frequently enough that you're not overburdened and overstressed all the time. It's part of your salary, in a way."
"Then, damn, we really earn the big bucks." I still felt guilty about having such a good job sometimes. There was no way I deserved it. I worked with people I liked, and they pampered me and then paid me on top of it all? The tons of extras — security, housing, free food — it had to add up. It was like I was some spoiled politician.
Kevin looked at me and blinked. "Hey," he said more gently, then got up and came around his desk to me. "You okay, buddy?" He put a hand up as if to touch my face, and then withdrew instead.
"Mm-hm," I said. But I shuffled closer, and when he got the hint and opened his arms to embrace me, I put my head down on his shoulder and closed my eyes. I breathed through my nose, deeply, trying to control the errant emotions swamping me. Sometimes I felt very small and stupid and unworthy.
"You two having a problem?" he asked, trying to sound neutral and keep the worry out of his voice.
"No. Just feeling out of my league," I admitted.
He tightened his embrace, giving me the sort of hug I relished, and then released me and held me at arm's length. "That's my decision, and I say you're not." He gave me a little shake and an affectionate smile. "You're mine, Peter. Don't forget that. And it's not your choice what you earn or how frequently you have vacations. It's mine — because I want to keep working with you. I'm not letting the ESRB take you away over salary issues or vacations or anything of the sort. Now, will you let me handle it and trust I know what I'm doing?"
I wanted to believe him and accept it, and since he believed what he was saying very much indeed, it was easy to nod. "Good boy," he said, and I laughed at the teasing tone in his voice.
"I'm not a dog!"
He swiped at my hair, trying to keep his mouth from twitching into a grin. I ducked away from him, feeling happier than I had moments before. It was easy lately to let Kev be in charge of things. I hoped I wouldn't forget how to handle myself if I ever didn't have his support.
Then again, I'd never been much good at handling my own life in the past when I was fully responsible. Debts, bad jobs, the car accident, a string of boyfriends, and a lot of people wanting to punch me in the face had been my life companions.
I occasionally felt out of place here, but I always trusted Kev to look after my welfare better than I'd been able to do on my own, even when I was trying my very hardest. I'm not sure what that says about me, to be honest. Probably nothing good.
I went back to accompanying Ell on his rounds and helping Kev out with truths and falsehood readings where needed, till he got the vacation all thrown together and let us know we'd be flying out in the morning.
Ellery was excited, really excited, and glad I'd chosen the Swiss resort. He loved the hot chocolate they made there, and the views from the window. But it hadn't occurred to him to pick it till I suggested it, at which time his emotions had lit up with a kind of "of course!" triumphant happiness.
I didn't know where the paralyzing trouble with snap decisions had come from in his case, but perhaps it had been learned half a lifetime ago, or was something like the way I'd felt talking to Kev — that I was stupid and not worth all this bother.
I helped him pack, and he helped me pack, with occasional breaks for silliness, kissing, or sock battles. I loved that we could be childish together. When I lurked behind him and tossed a balled-up sock at him, he didn't give me an eye-rolling annoyed look; he laughed and threw one back.
#
I hadn't realized we'd been so busy lately, but from how good it felt to relax, we must've both been more stressed than I'd known. You'd think I'd be able to read his stress even when I couldn't notice my own. But only now, with the relaxation, lounging around, and sleeping in late, did I feel how stressed we must've been. We both felt so light in comparison now, like we could breathe again . . .
"I hate being such a lightweight," I admitted to Ell over a cup of hot chocolate. He had a little chocolate mustache on his lip, but I'd resisted saying anything about it; it kept making me want to laugh, and I didn't want him wiping it off. I took my fun where I could find it.
"Oh?" He looked up, raising inquiring brows at me, curious.
I tossed a crumpled napkin at him. "You know. Feeling insecure, needing to be taken care of so much. Self-doubt. Depression. Need I go on?"
He thought about it for a second. "You usually seem pretty together to me. You used to run your own business. You've never been locked up for mental illness. You're even good at making decisions." He flicked the napkin back at me.
"Thanks." I had to admit his assessment made me feel better — flattered, even. "But the business didn't pay very well."
"You made a living," he pointed out, leaning over and poking me on the shoulder. "And you were a private investigator, which, let's face it, that's just cool." He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, smiling at me. "I'm dating a private eye."
"Yeah, it was real Chandler stuff." I rolled my eyes.
"Who?"
I bit back a laugh. "Raymond Chandler? The famous — forget it."
"Oh, fiction. Well, you know me. I'm a movie buff. I've probably seen the movie but not read the book."
"And here you pretend to be so smart," I teased.
"I do not! I'm dumb as crap!" He tried to look offended, spreading a hand out against his chest in a 'moi?' gesture.
We couldn't keep it up and both dissolved into giggles. I tugged him closer with a "C'mere!" and kissed him. He felt very satisfied with that outcome.
I suppose I was doing the worst kind of introspection, because the next day, when I should've been focusing on other things, I had another question for him.
"Is it weird that my best friend is my boss?"
"What?" Now he looked offended. "What about me?"
"You moved from best friend to boyfriend. I meant 'best friend who's not also my boyfriend.' Or maybe I meant 'most emotionally supportive person I've never had sex with.'"
He reached over and pinched me. "I'm still offended by that."
"Well, get over it and tell me. Is it weird?"
"Yes. And so are you."
"Okay, look, you're my best friend. Happy? Is it weird that my second-best friend is my boss?"
"It would be weird if it wasn't Kevin," he said, relenting. "Kevin's really a great person, and you two are something special. I like him and trust him, but when I see you guys together, it's different."
"You're not jealous?" I was worried about that suddenly. I'd always felt like Kev and I were closer than Kev and Ell, but I hadn't realized he might be bothered by that.
"No, of course not." He reached over and held out a fist. I returned the gesture with a fist bump, meeting him halfway. "It's just . . . you guys bonded more than I did with him. Or something. Anyway, I really don't think he sees himself as your boss, at least not most of the time. It's like you're partners doing important work together, and he really — I don't know, he's very . . . caring. Like, I'm not sure I understand Kevin, but I care about him, right? And I know you mean a lot to him, on a personal level. You're definitely not the only one who sees that relationship as an important friendship."
"I'm glad you're cool with it," I admitted. "I've never been good at making friends. To have Kevin continue to like me, believe in me, be on my side — it feels too good to be true. Especially since I know it's never going to be anything more or less than that. He's never going to be interested in me sexually, and vice versa."
"Are you sure?" He looked at me closely. "I mean, how can you tell? Or are you saying that because you think I'm worried about you cheating? I'm not. I trust you both."
"Thanks. No, it's on a fundamental level. He's never going to be interested in me. He doesn't mind hugging me, but I don't think he's really interested at all in sex, and certainly it wouldn't cross his mind that he'd be interested in me. It would be like . . . like being interested in his brother or something."
"Is it like family?" He seemed curious, not wistful or jealous.
I thought about it. "Maybe. It's more than boss and employee, or even friendship. It's like he belongs in my life and I belong in his, and I'll always go to him if I'm in trouble and know he'd be there." I paused. "I think even if I stopped working here, he'd be there to help."
Although we had a few conversations like this (and quite a bit of showering together and sharing the bed energetically) we were basically extremely lazy for the next few days. We slept late, lazed around watching TV, ate all the delicious foods they offered us, and generally agreed we'd have to do a lot of working out when we got home to make up for it. It all felt comfortably relaxing and decadent, and the chocolate dishes were amazing.
It wasn't skiing season, but the views were still fantastic, and we went on some brief hikes — nothing too athletic, just enjoying the natural beauty together. Security was tight but extremely unobtrusive.
All in all, I completely forgot to be stressed out or worried. Perhaps I should've been; perhaps then I would've been prepared.
#
We were returning from one of our hikes, wearing disgustingly hiker-centric clothes (we both secretly loved it, even though — or perhaps because — it made us look far more athletic and outdoorsy than we were). It was our second-to-last day at the resort. We were both about as relaxed as we could get during the daytime. The staff had been wonderful, the food was glorious, the mountain air was intoxicating, and we were already planning our next visit.
That was when I saw what's-his-face again. The empath, the strong one — the jerky, closeted asshole.
Fortunately he was still striding up the hill towards us when I saw him. Ellery was standing arm's length from me, adjusting his backpack, looking particularly cute and fine in his hiking clothes. His dandelion puff hair was flyaway and windswept, and he looked innocent and calm and endearing in that heart-clenching way a person you love does. (I was thinking that word a lot lately, and it had inspired less terror in me lately. Maybe because I knew he felt that way, too.)
I'd have done anything to protect him from that guy. But fortunately, I had time. I reached out and nudged him. "He's here. He's walking towards us." My voice was low and intense, cracking. "I want you to go back to the resort. I'll talk to him, then follow you. You can't see him, and I don't want you to get hurt."
"What?"
He was looking all around now, anxious but clearly not seeing the guy. Seeing us, the empath smiled and waved, a finger-waggling wave, and grinned at me. Damn him.
"Go on, it'll be safer."
"No, you could be in danger!" he protested.
"I wasn't before. They don't want me. I think he just wants to talk to me — but I don't want him influencing you. See, he's already influenced you enough to make you not see him. Can you just go? I don't want him convincing you to leave me and go with him or something."
Ell looked hurt; his mouth was set in a fine line and his eyes were burning. Indignation rose up in him, but he looked at me hard, and then gave a tight little nod. "Fine." He turned away and trudged towards the resort. He looked back at me once, brow furrowed with anger and concern. He was not a happy camper.
I waited for my 'friend' to approach, glaring at him. I shoved my hands into my pockets. They were shaking. I had to clench my teeth to keep them from chattering. On the one hand, I really didn't think he could control me. On the other, I had the creepy, visceral dread people feel when they're really afraid of something, even if they know it's something ridiculous — spiders, for instance.
For an arachnophobe, knowing there's a spider near can be as terrifying and debilitating as a real danger to someone who isn't frightened by spiders. Right now, I thought I was in the position of the spider-fearing; I didn't think I was in any actual danger, but I'd had plenty of time to become afraid, and it was deep inside me, visceral, shaking me to the core.
I wasn't going to run; I wanted to face this fear, find out what he wanted. Also, on some level, it really surprised me that I was so afraid. I'd been curious to see him again, if only from morbid nosiness, but now, seeing him so suddenly, had me frightened of him and frightened especially for Ellery. After all, if Ell couldn't even see him, what other tricks might he have up his sleeve that Ell couldn't counter or even recognize?
I didn't run, but I didn't move any closer, either. I waited for him.
"Hey, Peter," he said, giving me a nod as he finally reached me and stopped on the path, facing me. He sounded winded. Loser. I thought it loud and clear. He grinned, acknowledging it with his dancing expression. "Insults, already?" He arched a brow.
I tried to think of some more. "What do you want, asshole?" Was he here to try to hurt or kidnap Ell?
"I was in the area. I thought I'd say hi." He made a vague hand gesture, like someone giving a speech. It was creepy facing someone from this close but getting no emotional readings off them. He might as well have been a plank of wood. I was so used to my sixth sense that it felt very strange to not have access to it; I definitely hadn't adjusted.
"Hi to you, too," I said, giving him a tight, cautious nod. I was still shivering and knew he was reading me. I hoped there were no secrets I needed to keep from him, because if there were, I was sure they'd immediately pop into my head and he'd read them in my thoughts. I was pretty sure he could read my thoughts as clear as a large print book, maybe clearer.
His grin stretched; he was enjoying my tension. "Actually, I kind of wondered if you'd test something out with me. I always know how far I can go with regular people, the ones with no talent, but I'm wondering if you can resist me or not."
"What?"
"I mean, I can't make you not see me. We know that. Can I suggest something to you and you hear it? Can you block me reading you? I know you can't read me unless I let you."
"You were startled that one time and I got a quick snatch," I reminded him.
He ducked his head, smiling at me. "Okay. I'll drop it again quickly. You can see I mean it, and then we'll test something, okay?"
"Give me one good reason I shouldn't punch you in the face."
"Because you want to know as much as I do. Admit it."
"Are you gay?" I narrowed my eyes at him. That was what bothered me the most, I think. It was also a tactic to push him away, of course. But if he was gay . . . well, I didn't want him stealing my boyfriend. He'd already seemed far too interested in Ellery, and that scared me.
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm really after your nervous little squirt."
"Take that back." I started for him then, my hands in fists. He raised his hands, placating me. "Okay, sorry, but I'm really not. I'm just not. Now, do you want to test this or should I go?"
"Um." I was panting hard, couldn't think. Adrenaline ran through my veins, making me feel a little crazy, and a lot desperate.
But I really did want to know.
I bit my lip, hesitated, and then gave the tiniest jerk of my head in a nod. "Yeah. Just quick, though. Don't make me do anything awful, if you can."
"I wouldn't."
I believed him; I almost wished I didn't. But on some level it was like we spoke the same language. We were the same, even though we had different levels of empath ability and (possibly) different sexual orientations. He was curious about me, understood me but wanted to understand better. I felt the same way, and had for months now. I wanted to know more. That had always been a weakness of mine.
Ellery would've said not to put myself down, that my curiosity was what had made me a good detective. The only problem was he wasn't correct; I'd never been a very good detective. I'd been more prone to getting punched in the face than anything else, really.
"First, what's your name?" I asked, because I couldn't keep thinking of him as that guy I knew vaguely who was a strong empath but not ranked or trained through the ESRB.
"Martin."
I'd been so busy dating Colin that I'd barely spent any time getting to know other empaths, and none of them had seemed very interested in getting to know me. I guess we were all focused on getting the training we needed to find work — and probably hoping the other guys wouldn't beat us to better jobs. It hadn't been an environment to foster friendships, at least for me. I'd been that annoying guy to most of them, even the teachers, as always . . .
Not that this was going to be a friendship. No, sir. I had enough friends — I didn't need to go making people who worked for the enemy into friends, for pity's sake.
His grin widened. "Enemy, huh?"
"Damn it, stop that."
He spread his hands innocently. "How? I can't help reading what you're thinking. You're an open book."
"Books are outdated," I snapped. "Well, Martin? Show me yours first."
I thought his grin was less filled with confidence now, but I couldn't be sure without being able to read him (and I still couldn't). He gave me a small nod. "All right." And he lowered his shields — just enough. Just a tiny bit, and for a moment.
He didn't let me near any secrets, and no clear thoughts, but the swarm of feelings was there, the emotions he normally kept bottled up. And . . . he wanted me to feel them. He wanted someone to. He was very lonely, and distressingly uncertain of his role in life, or in his job.
He wasn't sure he worked for bad people — but he wasn't sure he didn't, either. Several of the things about the company sat poorly with him, and he felt like he was adrift in life, not knowing what he wanted to do, or how to go about finding out.
He envied wistfully my — if not my relationship specifically, then the happiness of it, of feeling that I'd found my place at The Shardwell Group, having a romantic partner, having a close, trusted friend in my boss. He envied my certainty, my feeling of safety.
He shut me out quickly then, before I could sense more, and drew back, looking rattled. He ran his fingers through his hair, eyeing me. "That was weird, man. Reflecting things back as you see them in me, just . . ." He gave a little shudder. "Weird."
"But not bad. It didn't hurt," I protested.
"Yeah, but nobody reads me. Nobody." He shuddered again.
"It's not like I can hear your thoughts," I pointed out. It wasn't that offensive, me knowing his feelings. It was damned natural — more natural than hearing his thoughts, at least.
"I'm not used to it. Now let me try, okay?" He put a hand on my arm and looked into my eyes. He looked at me with his mesmerizing eyes. I could almost feel them boring into me, like he was trying to hypnotize me.
"What are you trying to do?" I asked through clenched teeth. My heart began to pound extra hard. He couldn't tell it to stop beating or something, could he?
He was controlling where my thoughts went — I could feel it. He was pulling them in a certain direction. It was cleverly done; he could've suggested out loud the topic he wanted me to focus on, but instead he steered me with his mind only. It wasn't particularly rough, it didn't hurt, and I didn't feel mentally assaulted; it was as if he'd taken my hand and pulled me down the corridor he wanted me to walk. He wasn't hurting me, but I wasn't sure if I could pull my hand free if I wanted to. That frightened me a bit.
In this case, he was taking me to a place I didn't particularly mind. The ESRB. I'd received my training at a fairly good facility; they'd treated me well, aside from a few teachers losing their tempers. I had overall good memories of my time there: the triumph of passing the test (finally), learning how to use my ability and how far it went, and the fun of getting to know Colin, and making out with him, and more.
He steered quickly away from that area, a faint tinge of pink touching his cheek. Some of those thoughts were pretty explicit, and he'd gotten a good whiff of the welling affection and lust in the clearest memories. Colin had been pretty damn sexy. In fact, he almost certainly still was. I hoped I never had to face him again; I would probably always feel a little guilty about that relationship, but I definitely didn't want him back, notwithstanding sexy memories burned into my mind. I had a lot of sexy memories; I'd been with lots of guys. But I didn't want any of them back. I wanted Ell, for life.
"Yeah, okay, I get it," he muttered, focusing harder now on the official training, trying to steer me away from the romantic areas.
"What, does that gross you out?" I teased. "All that disgusting gay sex?"
"Would you concentrate?" He tugged harder now, and I found myself focusing with a concentration I'd almost never managed on my own. My ADHD tendencies made it far easier for me to flit from subject to subject than to sit down and focus on any one thing, no matter how interesting and important. The few times I'd managed to really concentrate had always taken an act of will that was painful — or being right under the gun in some way. Now I was concentrating easily. Damn, he would be a great study aid!
He was going over the processes, the training. He wanted to learn. He wanted to know what the ESRB could teach him.
"You'd get a really high rating; I'm sure of it. Colin wanted to find you."
"Colin?" He drew back, alarmed, concentration broken.
"Not for sex." I grinned at him knowingly, and he flushed more. "You know, that's his job? Working there? They all want to find you, train you and learn from you."
"I know," he muttered. He reached for my shoulder again, but I jerked away from him.
"Just ask," I said sharply. "Ask what you want to know. You see how it works now — so just ask." The mental handholding and focus were getting annoying. I frowned at him, shaking off the mental hold. It had been a very gentle sort of control, really, more suggestion than control, and he hadn't hurt me. But it was still getting old.
He drew back and stared at me, as if he was trying to decide something or figure something out. He seemed surprised that I found it irritating. He reached for me again — I felt it coming, mentally — and I made a swatting motion, as if trying to push bees away from my airspace.
He glanced past me and parted his lips. He wanted to ask me something. I could feel it. His control let me have the slightest bit of access to reading him by more than his blushing . . .
I was breathing harder, fighting him. He still wasn't hurting me, but it was like fighting in a great pit filled with cotton wool. There was nothing to hit . . . but there was no escaping it either. His mind was gentle against me, pressure of a sort. Humiliatingly, I was getting an erection. I didn't think I was turned on, but he must've hit something, some button inside that controlled it . . .
"Stop," I begged.
"Stop fighting, I'm not doing it on purpose," he said irritably.
"Then you need to work on control." I panted hard, adjusted myself, and felt my own cheeks burning. "I don't even like you."
"I know. It's okay."
The painful arousal began to subside as he got more control, or moved to a new area. It was intimate; he was in charge, but I was getting to know him too. He brushed over my brain, my heart, tender with me, feeling things out, wanting to know and understand, wanting information, proof, denial, experience. I shivered suddenly, a strange feeling going over me.
I heard a tiny whimper escape me, and my knees felt weak, my legs wobbly and shivery. I felt myself surrender to him; it was like a bubble popping, as easy and unchangeable as that. He had full access to whatever he wanted of me.
I closed my eyes, biting my lip. I couldn't look at him; he had me now. He had me if he wanted me. It was a strange feeling. It was like going home with someone from the bar, wanting to have a one-night stand — the moment when I let him have me, whatever he wanted, as long as it was safe. I'd agreed; I was giving in; and yet there was fear there, and bravery, and something else, something that was going to make it hard to let go.
He got gentler; I could feel his mental touch grow even more careful. He wasn't tugging me down a corridor now, but I was still breathing hard. His fingers rubbed over my thoughts, caressing gently. He wasn't hurting me. I didn't feel violated — but I did feel exposed, like I was waiting for him to fuck me. It was like that, without the nudity, but somehow my brain was more naked than my body ever could be.
Gently, he reached for that last little bit he wanted, and smoothed again, tender, covering me with a sheet so I wasn't so naked, stroking me carefully.
He began to withdraw. He wasn't going to fuck me after all. There might be kissing, or foreplay, or friendship and a movie; a burst of disappointment mingled with relief. There was his smile in my mind, burned there forever, liking me, a gentle corner, a little hint of him left, comforting me, as if he was stroking my cheek and giving me a cuddle. No roughness; no sex.
I opened my eyes. They were wet; my cheeks had cold streaks down them. "Don't cry," he said, but when he looked at me, he wasn't a stranger. He was a gentle person who owned part of me, and always would, and I knew he wasn't going to hurt me. His eyes were the eyes of a friend or a lover, someone I knew intimately. Someone I trusted automatically.
"D-Did you do something to me?" I tried to fight my way past the muzzy, brain-deadening softness he'd left inside me, the way he'd stroked and soothed, comforting me even as he sorted me out inside. I reached up and swiped quickly at my eyes, dashing away the cold tears, blinking at him, staring.
I'd never seen him before, not really. But now I knew him as well as I knew Kevin. Some of the same feelings seemed to be involved, too.
"No, no. You don't have to listen to me," he said quickly, as if to forestall me being afraid. Again I felt him soothing me. He'd left my brain but he still had easy access. He could read me as well as he could read anyone in the universe, and he could touch me without effort or willpower. The slight connection was there, would probably always be there unless he cut it. I was still surrendered to him on some fundamental level, and I probably always would be. Some part of me belonged to him.
I sniffed again and wiped at my eyes. There were so many things I wanted to say to him — and definitely never wanted to say. "Did you get what you wanted?"
He nodded, distracted, and stroked me mentally again, as if soothing a nervous dog, comfort to distract me from my fears. "Yes. You trust the ESRB. That's what I wanted to know. You know, you shouldn't be so down on yourself. You're not so bad, really." I felt his confused approval through our connection. He didn't think it was so awful to be distractible and talkative. He didn't think I deserved anyone's scorn.
He reached out — physically this time — and touched my cheek, wiping a last tear away. "Go on, now," he said with gentle affection, his eyes warm and kind. "I don't want anything else, and I won't hurt you. I don't want to take your boyfriend from you, either."
"I know," I said, because I did. The tie went both ways. I might've surrendered — he might be in charge of this strange connection, and in some way of me — but the polite, tender bond went both ways, and I'd seen into him as well. I knew what he wanted.
He wanted a man of his own, even if he hadn't admitted it to himself, even if he never admitted it to himself. But Ellery wasn't the man he saw in his longings; to him, Ellery seemed small and kind of weak, a fragile person you couldn't invest too much love in without breaking him. You would always be afraid to break him, if you were Martin.
Besides which (and this shocked me deeply), he didn't find Ellery particularly attractive. The blue eyes, the soft hair, the slender, fit body — they did nothing for him. He found me a little more attractive, but not attractive enough to go to bed with, only to recognize, 'yes, he's fairly attractive.'
As far as reactions went, I was fine with that. For him not to want Ellery — or me — went a long way toward making me less afraid of him.
Now he turned to go. Heaven help me, I took a step after him. "You're leaving?"
"Yeah, I gotta think," he said.
I didn't want him to go. "You sure?"
"Yeah. I'll see you around, okay?" He turned back then and looked at me, a smile in his eyes. "I'll call you?"
"Okay." I stopped walking, wrapped my arms around myself, and tried to play it cool. I was still shivering; I hadn't stopped during our whole conversation.
"Take care of yourself," he told me seriously. "There's such a thing as being too loyal. If they burn you out, it'll be you who suffers."
"I'm fine. They take good care of me."
"But if they stop, will you take good care of yourself?" He looked distracted and worried, and a little indignant for my sake. "Those cops sure didn't."
I looked away first. "No." I bit my lip. I wanted to talk to him more, but I wasn't sure what about; I felt tongue-tied.
"I'll call," he promised quietly. "I have your number up here." He tapped his head.
"Are you going to contact the ESRB?" I said.
"Like I said, I need to think. Take care of yourself and enjoy your partner," he added. "It's beautiful here this time of year, isn't it?"
And then he loped away back down the path, hurrying away from me.
I didn't follow. I watched him for a minute. I had the distinct feeling he was embarrassed. Maybe he hadn't meant to go that far down the rabbit hole, to form that bond between us.
But, even though I'd cried, I wasn't afraid or hurt, and I didn't feel any compulsions or implanted suggestions from him. I could read him better than I'd ever been able to before. I listened to his faintly embarrassed, distracted feelings as he hurried away from me, eager for some distance.
Strange kind of one-night stand. Mentally and non-sexually.
I had the feeling the bond was going to last, whatever either one of us wanted on that score. If he needed me, I suspected I'd know it — and vice versa. I didn't know what that said about either of us or what the future held, but as I turned and headed back up to see Ellery and try to tell him what had happened, I wasn't afraid. Not even a little bit — except that Ell would look at me weirdly if I couldn't make it all fit into words.
#
Ellery was really, really angry. With me, with Martin, with the whole universe.
When I found him, he and several of the unobtrusive security men guarding us were looking around for me and Martin. They hadn't seen us at all; Martin must've made them not see either of us while we were busy talking and getting to know each other.
Although I'd dried my eyes and was trying to contain my emotions, Ellery took one look at my face and his fury redoubled itself. I'd been hurt, and he wanted to tear heaven and earth apart and kill the man who'd hurt me.
When I tried to explain that everything was okay, it got even worse. He didn't believe me; he wanted the man shot at dawn. Someone rifling through his memories, thoughts, feelings, and beliefs seemed like the worst kind of hellish torture to Ellery — and it certainly could've been.
He didn't believe I hadn't been hurt, and he didn't believe I was unchanged. He was really upset, almost frantic, and yet coldly fierce, striding around, making phone calls, coming back multiple times to check on me.
To make matters worse, I really wasn't feeling like myself. The visit with Martin had exhausted me, mentally, emotionally, and also physically. I needed a lie down, and eventually I got one. I slept for hours, and didn't wake up till it was dark.
Ellery had his arms wrapped around me, feeling fierce and forlorn. Even without seeing his face, I could tell he'd been crying at some point, too. He wanted to protect me, and he didn't know how.
I kissed him, then we had a shower together, after which we ate a light snack and went back to bed. I was too tired to stay awake.
I slept most of the next day as well, and after that Kevin and the ESRB agents arrived. Ellery had, of course, shared everything I had shared with him. I didn't much like that; it all felt private, but perhaps it was understandable. There was no reason to trust my belief that he hadn't hurt me, hadn't changed me and made me into some kind of undercover mole, programmed to spy or do something else drastic.
Ell spent a lot of time holding me, when I wasn't being checked over by technicians. They wanted to take me back to the ESRB HQ to have more lab tests run on me, but Ell implored, and Kev demanded, and between them and my misery, we prevailed on them not to make me go. I got to head back home. Though I was tired for the next few days, it was more from stress than anything else.
As we settled back into our routine, I still felt a little shaken, but I couldn't see Martin as my enemy. I thought he'd made a mistake getting so close to me, and perhaps it was regrettable, but the bond was there now, distant but in some ways close. I knew he was okay, wherever he was, and I knew he felt chagrined about the whole thing. He definitely hadn't meant to do that. I think he'd also have made some more space between us if he could've; he didn't want me knowing things about him, like how far away he might be or how near. But it was as it was; there was no changing things at the moment.
I got more counseling, lots of follow-up questions and visits from the ESRB investigation agents, who were particularly interested in any new details I might recall or divine somehow about Martin. I was passed as fit for service, and allowed to keep working with Kev, under the proviso that I be given immediate medical attention if anything seemed 'off' or I had some kind of breakdown — even if I had more unexplained exhaustion.
Ellery spent more time holding me than he ever had before. I'd known he was a cuddly person, and I'd appreciated it, but now I got to enjoy the full range of his protective tenderness. I really needed it, somehow. I felt like I was on trial sometimes, that everyone was staring at me, waiting for me to go crazy. I doubted myself a lot, too.
Perhaps Martin really had programmed me to do something bad in the future. It was awful to doubt myself, to not know for sure — me, who'd always known for sure about nearly everyone. To have this doubt on me, about me, was painful.
But after his initial anger, Ellery was my staunchest supporter. Even when I wasn't really in the mood for sex (I know, I know — that doesn't happen often for me!), he was no less loyal about taking care of me, holding me till I could sleep, making sure I ate and exercised, and being gentle with me. He was a tender person, and I began to see the depths of his love and devotion in the thoughtful, concrete responses to my despondency.
Martin's words came back to haunt me sometimes, the way he'd warned me to take care of myself. I was clearly more fragile than I liked to admit.
Only it wasn't the job bringing me down now, it was the doubt.
Ellery was fiercely protective of me all the time. It didn't always show on the surface, but it was always there. He watched me, watched out for me, and worried about me. I wanted him to stop sometimes, but overall it meant a lot to me how much he cared. Not since I was a small kid had anyone really cared that much that I be okay and worked so hard to look after me.
To be honest, I'm pretty sure I was a burden to my mom and dad even when I was little. I was a pretty demanding child, always getting into everything, hyperactive and too aware, and of course, I always knew what they were feeling, about me and about each other.
When they got divorced, I perhaps had more reason than most kids to blame myself. I wasn't the biggest part of it, but my rambunctious, needy nature had definitely come into it. And I knew — I always knew.
I knew when Dad didn't want to see me on weekends but forced himself to. I began helping him make excuses so we didn't have to endure the time together, father and son not bonding, because the son was gay and all wrong in every way. Too short, not masculine enough, not smart enough — I could go on. Even when he didn't say it, I knew. I always fucking knew.
Of course, as that awkward teenage boy, I hadn't known that I knew. I'd had those feelings, gotten those impressions off him, but I hadn't known if they were real or not. I'd mostly connected the fact that I always felt useless and worthless and disgusting around my dad with not wanting to be around him as much, and feeling like he didn't like me or love me anymore, if he ever had.
Believe me, I never wanted to have kids. What a responsibility. I'd probably only fuck that up, too. At least my parents had kept me in food and clothes and school. But we didn't see each other much these days, and none of us missed each other much, from what I could tell. The only child (difficult child, who grew up wild and gay) of a divorced couple? Yeah, they'd started their lives fresh. I was a memory, probably not a good one, and definitely not their cherished child.
Not that I expected to be at my age. I hadn't learned to expect it at any age, not really. I'd worked hard for my attention — generally negative. I'd made it through, and my life was pretty good right now, except for the bouts of fragility and depression. But for some reason, I was thinking a lot about home and family lately. I guessed Martin's rifling through my mind had stirred up old memories and everything they brought with them.
He'd seemed to feel I was less idiotic and annoying than I'd felt for most of my life. Subconsciously, that small boy had taken in the worst impressions of people about him. Most kids, if an adult finds them annoying, might or might not be aware of it, but if they're at least mildly decent, they'll keep it to themselves and try to treat the kid fairly. Well, try they might have; I'm sure most of the adults in my life had tried. But for a lot of them — teachers, even my parents sometimes — I was their least favorite chore in the world.
That had warped my sense of self. I hadn't gone inward and made myself small and invisible, as some kids might've. I hadn't become less trouble; I'd probably become more. No one was going to ignore me; I'd fight for attention, and space, and laughter and life. I wouldn't give in. But at the same time, I'd always secretly known I was stupid, stupid, stupid and awful, the most annoying brat in class, the one who shot his mouth off and wouldn't sit still no matter what.
I'd hated that kid, too. Even though he was me.
Now, I was thinking about all of those things an awful lot. Martin's anesthetized visit to old places in my memory had left me mulling things over quite a bit. Suffice it to say there was plenty to discuss during therapy, when I could bring myself to bare it.
Through it all, Ellery was there for me, and Martin's remembered words, and Kevin's whole-hearted support and appreciation of me helped to buoy up the painful dissecting of childhood beliefs. The adult in me could see that I'd been a very sensitive child and had taken irritation and private feelings too much to heart. I hadn't known I had issues and talents; I'd just been the bad kid.
Now, looking back, I tried to see with new eyes and let myself be more than the bad kid grown up, but still worthless and not good enough for the great job and life he'd fallen into. Whatever my flaws, there had been people in my life who found something worthy in me. And it wasn't always as someone to fuck, although I'd gotten my sense of worth that way for a very long time.
I had a job I was good at. A boyfriend who loved me and was loyal to me even with all my flaws. A boss and friend who appreciated me and stuck up for me whenever I needed it.
Even in the failed relationships in my life, I'd had people who often cared about me, even if we couldn't make it work long-term.
Colin had cared about me deeply, though we were ill-suited and ill-timed in our relationship and I wasn't good at being honest with him about my problems.
Damon had been my friend once, and perhaps if life had gone differently, could've been again (though I doubted that, frankly).
Angel had loved me as much as he could, although his fear of my talents had come between us in the end.
And when I thought back about the other relationships I'd had, most of them contained some kernel of goodness — the boyfriends who hadn't been total scumbags, of course — and, if I really studied the past, I knew I'd had a few friends in school, people who had liked me and thought I was brave and funny. There had even been teachers who'd put up with my crap and tried to reach me and help me. I'd missed so much of it, feeling worthless and trying to bluff that I wasn't.
It was going to be a long, hard road, but it was time to change all of that. I wasn't a child anymore, and I didn't have to hold on to that child's feeling of lacking value and being stupid and bad.
Ellery supported me through it all, and, aside from his telling me very fiercely that he was not going to leave me again if Martin came back (said with a glare firmly in place, meaning it very much indeed whether I agreed or not), our relationship didn't change.
Nothing had changed for him; I needed him more right now, and he was there for me wholeheartedly. He didn't even look down on me for being mopey and sad. He didn't secretly think I was an idiot, or get impatient with me for being needy, or think I was a bit dumb for not figuring out things better and sooner on my own.
It was a revelation to me just how deep his acceptance and commitment went. I'd known he loved me, but I hadn't quite felt the full impact of it. He had hidden depths, sterling strengths I wouldn't have guessed at. A man who could fall into panic over an unexpected decision thrust upon him could be fierce as a lion in protecting me — whether that meant standing up to the ESRB or spending a night holding me through my sadness.
He was a really good boyfriend, and I was ashamed of how hard it still was sometimes to trust him, to believe in his love, and admit to myself how much I needed him. But shame didn't help me open up and grow stronger and braver, so I was working on that, too.
#
Therapy aside, life was a bit dull, to be honest.
My encounter with Martin had put a pretty big scare into Kev. He worried about me more lately; he felt I was a bit more fragile and vulnerable than he'd known. He was very alert to my stress levels, and solicitous; he was also afraid of letting me out of the building, even with guards. Even at fancy resorts.
It became a bone of contention between us. Not that I felt the need for a vacation yet (that would be a bit much), but to me, Kev was a friend, and a slightly protective brotherly figure. It didn't work on any level for me, having him be this worried about me, having him be this inflexible. I didn't want him exerting control over my life. Before, his decisions hadn't impacted me as severely. Now I was actually forbidden to leave the building until we had some guarantee of safety. And I resented it.
I didn't, however, feel up to flouting the rules. It was still a struggle to drag myself through the days.
Then, more bad news.
Out of some misguided sense that I would want to know, the captain from my old job at the precinct sent me information about Damon's trial and conviction. Although it was couched in official language, it was still painful to read his heart and mind stripped bare in the way the trial had required.
He was not guilty of murder, but he'd been involved in withholding evidence from the police. That evidence, when finally given (I didn't have to testify, but my officially recorded evidence was a firm part of the trial, believe it or not), had led to the murderer.
It required jail time for the man I'd once considered a friend and a lover. He'd hated me, in a way, and couldn't forgive me for being someone he wanted. But I wasn't the only one he'd ever wanted. He'd really fallen for one of the guys he'd met undercover, both without knowing they worked for the opposite side.
When they figured it out, a mutual truce had allowed them to keep seeing each other on the down-low, a secret relationship that was risky but worth it to both of them. Both being in the closet, knowing their relationship would be dangerous if it ever came out — well, it probably bonded them together in some ways.
But at what cost?
Yolanda had figured out at least part of it. She'd let word slip to someone who had told the leader of the gang. He'd spoken to the man in question. Roughly. Formally. Violently. In the end, the hint that Damon was involved with a police investigation had reached the wrong ears. And a woman who knew had to be silenced.
As his penance to the gang, Damon's lover had been sent to do the deed.
And he had.
Damon would have been next, if it hadn't worked out better to have him be charged with the murder. He'd been so sure his lover had nothing to do with the case that he'd kept the man's involvement from the police, even letting himself be charged with the crime.
He'd been positive that more evidence would come forward, that the killer wouldn't get away. And he'd felt guilty about his part in it; maybe if he hadn't tried to use her as an informant, she wouldn't have been killed. In this, he was almost certainly correct.
Her child had living grandparents, who had taken him in. But he was going to grow up without his mom because she'd been killed for knowing a man who was an undercover cop, and letting that information slip to the wrong person. Damon had a reason to feel guilty, even if he hadn't pulled the trigger.
However, knowing him, I doubted he'd felt guilty for long. He probably thought it was all part of the cost of doing undercover work — no omelets without eggs, etc. Guys like him make me sick, and yet I guess we all sometimes justify what we have to do to earn a living.
I justified my large salary, let myself be convinced it was okay. But I didn't really know that. At least no lives were at risk in my job — not directly. Certainly not single mothers with young kids. But I did it the best I could so that wouldn't become the case through shoddy workmanship. I could let so many people down if I wasn't careful. Partying with my boyfriend when I needed to be alert to tricky lawyer lies, or something.
At any rate, I felt self-righteous, angry, sad, and a little sick as I read the details. The fucked-up thing was that I thought Damon and his gangster boyfriend had really cared about each other. By all reports, the gangsters had really hurt Damon's boyfriend before he admitted what he knew. And Damon had kept their relationship a private, treasured thing even when it cost him everything — up until he couldn't hide it anymore and the truth came painfully spilling out.
I wished he'd had a better way of coming out. I wished he could still be a cop, and that nobody had died. I wished that kid still had his mom, and that the world wasn't so messed up with crime and drugs and bad people in it.
I wished I didn't feel a tiny spark of vindictive pleasure in his downfall and jail time.
He wouldn't serve long. They'd thrown the book at him, because he was a cop who'd made the whole police force look bad, and they were ridiculously angry with his stonewalling tactics. It had been big news, and he was in the wrong. But obstruction of justice wasn't really a twenty-years-in-the-slammer kind of crime. He'd serve his time, get out, and would probably never hold down any kind of cop-like job again.
I wondered if he'd become a private eye. Or perhaps a security guard. And I hated myself for enjoying his coming down in the world. He used to think he was amazing and I was stupid. He'd hated me for being gay, for being who I was, for not being tough enough and for being too attractive (he thought) to resist.
My wounded pride left me with ugly thoughts about him sometimes. He'd caused me a lot of pain, one way or another — several ways, actually — but I hadn't thought I had such a mean streak. I wondered if everyone had seen it but me.
On the other hand, did I really have to feel sorry for someone who'd treated me like shit and had inadvertently helped cause the death of another person? I didn't, not really.
He'd been my friend once, and I thought underneath all his bullshit and hatefulness, he'd had a spark of something decent in him. He'd pushed it down, hidden it, and maybe let it die down. But he'd cared about me once, and I knew from reading the trial transcripts that he'd cared a whole lot about Yolanda too, even if he couldn't love her in the way she'd hoped he might.
It was a mess all around. I was pretty down for a few weeks after all the details came out.
Ellery sensed my distress, but what could he do? He distracted me, kept an eye on me, and stayed close.
The trial details preyed on my mind for a while, though. I knew more than I wanted to know. Damon always seemed to suck me into his life, even when it caused me a world of hurt. I wondered why that was, and when I would learn my lesson. After all, I could've returned the trial files unopened.
#
After that came a period where I began to shut out my worries. I worked out more; I stopped giving quite as much effort to therapy. It was costing me a lot to peel back the onion layers, so I eased up a bit. I'd learned enough about myself, thanks.
While I still kept in touch with the ESRB, they'd backed off a lot on the questions about Martin (finally), and I wasn't eager to draw their attention back to me about anything. The Shardwell Group still wasn't letting me out of their sight, with Kevin as their spokesman. I had less than fond feelings about that, but we managed to keep working together and still cared about each other.
I worked out, watched a lot of movies, and hung out with Ellery. We got closer, but in different ways. It was like we communicated without talking sometimes. I couldn't actually read his thoughts, but sometimes it felt like it. A look, a glance, a flicker of emotion — I'd know how he thought about something. For a man who had always struggled to find people willing to hear him, even when he could express himself, it was satisfying to have me so in tune with him that we often didn't even need words.
It was probably a bit spooky to watch us sometimes, if you could watch us for a whole day without being a creeper. We might go for hours without a word, no hard feelings between us. Or we might joke around and tease each other like a couple of kids. Even my restless nature seemed to take a backseat with Ell. He grounded me somehow — like I was a live electric wire, and he was a skilled electrician. Except I didn't feel managed, which was important.
When we did sometimes need a break from each other — let's face it, everybody needs a break sometimes — there was room in the greenhouse area, the swimming pool, or the rooftop. We also stayed busy enough with work that neither of us was constantly in the other's pocket.
Ell kept in touch with Angel, and to my surprise they stayed friends. It grew less awkward for me in time — they weren't gossiping about how bad I was in bed or anything — and sometimes I'd be included in the conversations. It took time, but after a while, it seemed more like he was our friend instead of the ex who had once broken my heart into tiny pieces.
Angel was fairly young; he had a lot of growing up to do. I couldn't hold it against him that he'd been afraid of my skill. Hell, I was a little afraid of it sometimes, too.
I didn't call Colin often, but I really wanted to know about this communication thing between Ell and me, and I risked it. I tried to be casual, but he laughed before I got it all out. "Peter, shouldn't you be talking to one of the teachers about this? I'm not specifically an expert on empaths."
I felt pretty stupid, but I didn't want to tell him the real reason I'd called him. Most of my teachers had hated my guts by the end — I was the annoying student, the one that made them breathe a sigh of relief when he graduated. Even though I hadn't tried to be (and I hadn't), I'd made life difficult sometimes. I didn't want to go crawling to any of them now for advice. They'd probably laugh at me . . . just like Colin had.
"Sorry, never mind," I said, and started to hang up.
"Peter, wait. I'm sorry. Why don't you finish asking me your question. I'll tell you my opinion, and if you want me to, I'll ask one of the experts, okay?"
He was being gentle with me. I closed my eyes, grimacing. I hated owing him, too. "Sometimes my — my boyfriend and I can communicate almost without words. Is this normal? A look, a glance, a quick gesture. It's so easy lately. Is it because I'm getting stronger, or we're, like, mind-melding or something?"
He thought about it, while I internally writhed with embarrassment. I was talking to him about my current boyfriend. It was ill-conceived; I could see that now.
"I'd have to consult someone, but it seems like it's pretty normal. Sorry, I was thinking of the empaths I know who are in happy relationships." His tone held a slightly wry sense of self-deprecation. As if to say, 'Not that I'd ever know what it's like.' "It does seem like the non-verbal communication is greater than average, and pretty effective. I suspect there's a bit of an advantage there, because you do have the sixth sense. You can tell how your partner feels and adjust yourself to him unconsciously."
That didn't help. I was supposed to not be changing for my partner. I felt more confused than ever, and really restless. I needed a run around the building or something.
"Okay, thanks."
"I can ask an expert if you'd like, and pass it along to you?" He was trying; he really was trying. I shouldn't have asked for it, but he was very kind, and it was easy to rely on him.
"Nah, that's all right. Thanks, Colin. That's helpful," I lied. I hung up quietly, and then put my head in my hands.
"What's the matter, Peter?" asked Ellery, looking alarmed. He entered the room before I could pretend nothing was wrong. He sat down beside me, one hand on my back. "Bad phone call?"
"I had a question, but now I feel stupider than ever," I admitted. I straightened up with a bright smile. "Never mind. Let's do something fun. I need a run!"
He frowned at me, looking serious. "Peter, you can talk to me. I'm not going to collapse in a pile on the floor if it's something unpleasant." He looked annoyed — but he felt hurt.
So I gave in, not wanting to, and told him about what I'd been wondering, and how I'd called Colin but had ended up feeling stupid. "We used to date," I added, though he already knew. I suppose I wanted to know if he was jealous.
"He's probably right," said Ell ruefully. He gave me a quick, weighing look, slightly shy, slightly naughty. "Not that I want to ever agree with anyone who has such poor judgment." And he launched himself at me and kissed me firmly on the mouth.
It caught me by surprise, that he would say my ex was probably right, while at the same time siding very much with me. I liked it.
#
To curb my restlessness, I worked out more, possibly a way of building muscle to build confidence, but whatever. Ellery and I also took up table tennis and, despite starting out slowly and tentatively (at least on his part, clumsily on mine) we soon had some vicious, brutal games.
Ellery definitely had a bloodthirsty side when it came to sports. I swear he laughed and twirled his paddle in triumph if he won. And he wouldn't be a nice winner, either. He was a total braggart.
"I won, I won, I won," he'd snicker, walking back with me afterwards, a bounce in his step, a bit of his hair plastered down with sweat, a grin on his face like he thought he'd won Wimbledon or something.
"Yeah, well, I'll get you next time," I'd grumble.
"Ha ha." He'd nudge me with his shoulder, friendly and affectionate, before starting to brag yet again.
"You're such a little shit." I managed not to smile.
"Look who's talking."
There was usually some play-wrestling after that, and laughter, and maybe making out. I liked seeing him excited, happy, and content in his own skin. It happened more these days. He didn't seem to mind our restricted life at all.
Of course, we were more pampered than restricted, but I'm the kind of guy who, if you tell me I can't do something or go somewhere, is going to feel restricted. Especially if that thing is, "Don't leave the damn building, Durphy." Kev never said that to me, but one of the CEOs did when I was giving him some shit about it. The man called me up and made a fuss about the fuss I was making, and in the end I was suitably chastened . . . but still pissed off.
Security was tight but after a while invisible. It was easy to take for granted. We weren't harassed by 'job offers,' rubbernecked at for being gay, or given unwanted attention (positive or negative) for being success stories of the ESRB.
We were, however, contacted by a gay magazine, to our intense surprise. They were putting together an issue on interesting modern couples, and the prestige and cachet of our job, as well as the romantic notions many people had about talents and what they meant for daily life, gave us appeal. Apparently we would also make a good photo spread. I was incredulous but excited; I do love some positive attention.
Ellery, however, was a nervous wreck. The idea of being in a magazine filled him with dread and brought up a bunch of insecurities about his body, his abilities, and the dread of being noticed he'd lived with for most of his life. It was okay now, and this way of being noticed wasn't bad, but his breath grew tight and his heart frantic more than once while we were discussing this.
I was excited about it at first, but just as willing to give it a miss if he wasn't keen on it. It wouldn't be any fun doing it without him, and I didn't want him upset. However, the ESRB and The Shardwell Group both wanted us to do it, which was a rare occasion, and Ellery caved to the pressure, with a lot of reassurance from both.
We'd get some approval on the article and photos before they ran; we'd also be doing some good in the world, showing that it was OK to be gay and talented, that there were lots of good ESRB-related jobs for all sorts of people. The ESRB wanted the publicity; The Shardwell Group wanted the publicity. Ellery's nerves didn't hold out against their persuasion. And while I'd have been glad to back him up against them all if I knew that was what he wanted, he seemed far more eager to get it over with than to go against the flow and argue his way out of it.
Since we couldn't go to them (and it was as much about the work as it was the people), they came to us. Ell was a nervous wreck until we met the writer, a smiling and clever-eyed man with tortoiseshell glasses. He had a slight lisp and an elegant, flowing walk, which comforted Ell, I think. He hates it when he's the least-butch man in the room, although he doesn't buy into those stereotypes on purpose; it's just something he's lived with long enough that it makes a difference to him.
The guy was a pro; he drew interesting quotes from us, watched us keenly and made notes, and charmed us both with his quick wit and sympathetic chatter. When we read the article later — for our approval before publication — we were surprised how well he'd captured us and our relationship in so few words; things we barely remembered saying, an offhand comment or look between us that he magnified, revealing us like flies in amber, but cuter.
I loved the article. He made us look good. Ell wasn't a nervous wreck or a barely-escaped mental patient; I wasn't a failed private eye with attention span issues. We were a committed, hard-working young couple finding success in a relatively new field, turning our burdens into gifts for the world. We came across as thoughtful and articulate and compassionate, and not weird, nervous losers. It was amazing. I felt about ten feet tall after I read it the first time, and we called him personally to thank him.
For the other part of the article, they photographed us inside the building. I especially liked the pictures they'd taken in the plant room. They managed to do wonderful things with the light that made us look mysterious and very handsome.
My favorite shot was of us on the bench. I was facing the camera, the light was plentiful, the room was gorgeously green with growing things, and Ellery was beside me. My hand was coming up to rest on his back, and he was in profile to the camera, having just looked at something to the side, focusing on the room's beauty rather than his nerves about the shoot.
He looked shy and mysterious and achingly pretty; I looked protective and engaged and clever. The light had hit my eyes just so, and the smile in them was clear. I'd never looked so good in my life, sexy but with a mysterious and sweet quality of intelligence and grace and openness. Ellery looked beautiful and thoughtful and as shy as a little wren. I thought it captured him well, giving dignity to his hesitancy rather than baring him to the world with ugly, harsh lights and quick snapshots.
There were a few more posed shots, but it was no fashion shoot and it didn't get ridiculous. We looked great in our suits in the shot in the boardroom, though, I must say. Really powerful, trim, and hot. The photographer had us standing in the same sort of posture, and we looked very much alike in the way he had captured us. In other shots, he caught our individuality. In all of them, I noticed we had stuck close to one another. The warmth of our relationship seemed to come through, and even I hadn't realized we often stood so close. It seemed natural to me.
They had taken more snaps than ended up in the magazine, of course. A whole afternoon getting our pictures taken, and so professionally, too, yielded only about three pictures that made it into the magazine. But we got copies of all the best ones, gratis.
I was vain enough to want to frame them and hang them on the walls, but Ellery vetoed that.
"There's no way I'm looking at myself blown up to three times my size on the wall every day," he insisted with rare spirit. "It's not happening."
"Well, we could just hang me," I suggested.
He gave me a dark, narrow-eyed look.
A man passing us in the corridor did a double-take and looked back at us nervously. As an empath, I felt his spike of confused concern. He'd probably caught enough to get nervous.
"We're not blowing anything up," I said quickly. "Or hanging anyone."
He nodded quickly, eyes widening, then moved away in a hurry.
"Damn it," I muttered, running fingers back through my hair. "I don't think that worked."
Ellery laughed and grabbed hold of my arm. "You sounded so suspicious when you said that! Even I didn't believe you. How did you make it onto the police force?"
I pretended indignation. "Hey, I was a consultant!"
"Did you advise them in . . . fishy behavior?"
After that, tickling happened. He deserved it.
#
Riding high off the article and settling into my life, I was starting to feel better about everything and was pulling out of the depression I'd been dealing with. I was lucky to have a good support system; I knew that. Depression wasn't as debilitating for me as it was for some people, but I'd dealt with at least some level of it on and off my entire adult life.
At least lately I was dealing with it in more healthy ways, not drinking too much or having lots of casual sex to distract myself — or barely getting out of bed and feeling miserable and thinking about death. I'd done both of those as coping strategies in the past, and they hadn't worked out well. Exercise, routine, support, and counseling seemed to help me more — oh, and eating right.
So far, I hadn't needed anti-depressants (or if I had, I'd never been prescribed any). Maybe I'd never have to find out how I'd do on something that would make me gain weight or feel drugged. I'd always been scared of the side effects and hadn't sought such treatment, although I honestly didn't know if I'd end up with side effects or not.
These days, I was feeling more like myself. We hadn't had another vacation scheduled yet, and fortunately neither of us seemed to need it. Ell and I were both prospering in our jobs, were well cared for and good at what we did. I wanted to maintain that, and was working hard to do my best and not get overwhelmed by life again.
I'd also had to abandon thinking about Damon too much. His situation was upsetting, he was upsetting, and I didn't seem to have the emotional stamina to dwell on upsetting stuff without ending up down in the dumps lately. So that was helping, as well. I couldn't fix it, so I needed to not dwell on it, either.
Ell was doing well, too. He hadn't had a breakdown or an anxiety attack in some time. His mental health seemed stable, and he was healthy and generally pretty happy. I didn't even seem to get on his nerves much, which was a nice state of affairs, let me tell you. I was well used to how annoying I could become, even to people who cared about me, just by being myself. Ellery seemed to like me even when I was my most hyperactive and noisy self.
He found me cute. Cute. But, hell, I liked cute when it was the alternative to annoying-as-hell. And I liked cute when it meant he looked at me with warm, laughing eyes, finding humor and pleasure in watching me talk a mile a minute, or bounce off the walls when I was wound up, or be unable to sit still after I'd been in a meeting — even a short one.
He looked at me with such fondness, such pride. Even though I couldn't hear thoughts, sometimes I almost thought I could hear what he was thinking: That's my Peter.
But if I was doing better, Kevin was not. My best friend and boss had been struggling under some kind of cloud lately. He hadn't wanted to talk to me about it, so I'd tried to give him some privacy. It felt like he was struggling to make a decision, fighting himself about something — a quandary, or a moral dilemma.
I trusted his moral compass more than my own most of the time, so I was sure he'd make the right decision. My concern was more for how he was feeling: not happy, not sure of himself, torn on the issues, whatever they were.
It was probably about work, but it didn't feel like it was. In fact, it felt like it was about me. That seemed impossible — or at least unlikely — and very egocentric of me to even think that, so I dismissed that impression and gave him his space.
Then one day he came to me, having made his decision, and said, "Peter, I need to talk to you."
We went into his office. And he talked.
It had been about me, after all.
"Pete." He sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest, nervous but determined. "I know it's been hard for you lately, all the rules and restrictions and dangers of working here. I want you to know, I can't change a lot of that right now. But if you're not happy here, if you want to go — I'll help. I'll help you find somewhere you can be happy. A better job, or a safe place to retire, whatever you need. The job's not more important than you, and if you can be happier somewhere else—"
I stopped him, reaching out to grip his arm, looking him in the eye, feeling my brow crinkle and my throat grow tight. "Kev, no. I'm here. I'm with you. We'll work it out. I don't need to leave."
His face relaxed, and his heart swelled with feeling, like a kid being told he could go to Disneyland. "Oh. Well. That's excellent." He cleared his throat, trying to look like he wasn't feeling as emotional as he was. He steeled himself again. "But if that ever changes—"
I silenced him with a hug. "I knew," I muttered against his shoulder. "I always knew you'd put me above the job if I ever needed it. But I won't. I'll be here for you. I won't leave."
He cleared his throat again, several times. His hug was very tight. I snuggled shamelessly closer into his strong arms, enjoying the feeling of being perfectly safe. I do love a cuddle, even from Kev.
#
Darkness.
Dripping.
Mental confusion.
My head hurt, and there was a funny taste in my mouth. I couldn't feel my hands, and I was lying in a funny position.
Where was this that I was waking up? And why couldn't I remember . . . ?
My thoughts drifted back, forming slowly into a chain of circumstances. And then I wished I hadn't remembered after all.
I was with Kevin, in France. I'd gone off to wander the beautiful streets and take in the Parisian atmosphere. I'd stopped to get some authentic baked good — what had I been planning to get, a croissant or something like that?
I never got it. I'd had my security officer with me, a strong and competent bodyguard. But it was a busy street, a crowded street, and someone had made a plan.
I was snatched. Grabbed from the queue, shoved into the back of some kind of van, and driven away from there quickly. I'd tried to struggle free, but I was less than useless in the dark, with a couple of angry thugs holding on to me, giving me a thump in the ribs every time I tried to move.
By the time we'd arrived, I'd been subdued, and it was hard to breathe, every inhalation an effort, causing me pain. I was also shivering very hard, which made me pretty angry. I'd always been a tough bastard, springing up if I was knocked down, coming back for more, fighting guys bigger than I was and winning.
Granted I preferred not to have to fight, but it happened sometimes, and I wasn't the kind of person who shivered and flinched from blows. At least, not usually.
This felt . . . different. More ugly and less personal, somehow. I was here for a reason, and these men had no grudge against me personally but would do whatever it took short of killing me to keep me in line. And I could sense that they had a very, very long laundry list of things that would be short of killing me.
Did I want to lose a finger or two? How did I feel about internal bleeding and a broken jaw? I could keep struggling, if I wanted to, if I thought I could see anything in the dark and rocking van. I certainly could.
By the time they ejected me from the van, we had stopped. The building we were in — some kind of garage, I think — was dim and made me deeply nervous.
I was tossed out — hard. After I hit the concrete floor, and before I could hop up, I was hauled by my underarms (which hurts more than you'd think) into another vehicle. This time they took the trouble to bind me and duct tape my mouth. Considerate, I suppose. Now I couldn't struggle, and there were no more love taps on the ribs.
I was in a pretty good state of panic at this point, my terror feeding off their calm coldness. I kept trying to use the techniques I'd been taught in counseling. I kept telling myself Kevin would find me, free me. He would go all Liam Neeson on my kidnappers' asses — or hire someone who could. No one would hurt me — not really; I was too valuable alive. I'm afraid I didn't quite believe my own assurances, although I tried very hard to.
I had fallen into a fitful dose, more shock than sleep, I think, by the time we finally stopped. I'd lost all sense of time — it felt like forever. I was bundled out of the van, blinking in shock at the sun. It didn't seem to have changed positions in the sky at all. Did that mean I had spent a full twenty-four hours in one vehicle or another?
I couldn't tell if we were still in France, but I was hauled out of the vehicle in a small, neat garage that looked like it belonged to a pleasant home. They neither untied nor untaped me, and by this point I had to pee pretty badly. I was uncomfortably aware that there were damp spots on my face, where maybe I'd been crying without realizing it, and my nose was running, which made it hard to breathe.
The van was dusty, okay?
Inside the house — which looked normal, cozy, and pleasant — they plunked me down onto a kitchen chair, which was uncomfortable because my hands were still tied behind my back.
I wondered if I should pee myself. I wondered what I should do when I had to take a dump. Most likely my body was too scared to, and I hadn't had anything to eat recently, but eventually, they had to untie me and let me use the bathroom, right? I was growing so desperate to pee that even my terror couldn't compete. I tried wriggling around, but there was no way to speak or motion or mime, and they showed no interest in me anyway.
The two of them walked around, making cups of tea and coffee, and then sat down and drank them. They ignored me, except when I tried to get up from the chair. Then I was put back with enough roughness to remind me how much my ribs hurt. At least that made my bladder hurt a little less. I was going to have to pee myself. Would they hit me for that, too? I couldn't take much more of this, but I had no choice. I couldn't leave; I wished Kevin would find me.
Had anyone told Ellery that I was missing yet? If they had, he was probably feeling as desperate as I did. I could imagine him curling up miserable and broken, unwilling to speak, barely able to breathe, terrified for me.
I was pretty damn terrified myself, but the thought of him hurting as well really got to me. I struggled not to cry — not to let them see me that way. They probably already thought I was weak, since I didn't have the military or paramilitary levels of training and fitness they did.
I wanted Kevin very badly. I wanted him to come through the door like an action hero and bring me home. I was getting past the point of reasonableness, if I'd ever been in it. I wanted Ell's arms around me and to hide under the covers for the rest of the damn year.
A trim, dangerous-looking man walked into the room. There was something about the way he carried himself, and his eyes — and the calm clockwork emotions I got from him. This was a job to him, and he was in charge. My current captors and I both knew it immediately. They were on their feet in a second, and I was starting to shiver again. Little, uncontrollable, humiliating, whole-bodied trembling.
He gave me a cursory glance, then nodded. He told the two men the money would be wired into their accounts, and they could go now. He was very calm. Too calm.
He took his time fixing himself some tea. He had an American accent, bland and Midwestern. Nothing about him stood out; average height, clearly strong but not the strongest person in the universe. Trim hair and short beard, pale blue eyes. He looked unremarkable, fairly intelligent, and I was terrified of him.
He exuded danger. I think he might have seemed dangerous to me even if I hadn't been an empath — something about the way he carried himself, and a look in his eyes — but I was, and he scared me silly.
Whatever I was here for, it was part of his job, and he was at the top of his profession, or very near it. And there was nothing that let him regard me as human or worthy of any particular consideration. He would use exactly as much force as necessary to get whatever he wanted.
I could play tough and make him hurt me; he would consider that my being stupid. He would hurt me intensely, just shy of killing me. If need be, of course, he would kill me — but that would be imprecise and regrettable. Still, he'd have no qualms about it if it came to that. Fast or slow. Easy or hard. With gun, knife, bare hands or literally anything in this room. He could take me apart easily. He was feeling was no psychopathic enjoyable anticipation of my upcoming pain and fear; it was part of the job. Somehow, that almost made it worse.
I'd run across killers, working with the police. They'd always made my blood run cold. But the calmness of this man's intent made him more scary to me. Maybe because I was the victim this time.
I hated seeing myself that way — a victim — but it became clear to me, in those moments before he'd even spoken, as he stirred sugar into his tea, the spoon making a little ding-ding sound against the inside of the teacup, that I was the victim here, and if I wanted to survive I shouldn't play the tough guy. I would do what it took to survive — I wouldn't 'make' him hurt me by resisting.
Without turning around, he spoke. "They say you're an empath."
I watched him with the kind of desperation with which a hungry animal in the zoo must watch the hands of someone holding its meal. Would I get what I needed to survive? I couldn't feel my hands, I was in a very awkward position, my bladder was probably going to burst soon, and I was faint and headachy from lack of water. I watched him very closely indeed, wanting to survive.
He finished stirring his tea and turned to me, and then he sat down opposite me at the table, as if we were having a friendly chat. There was nothing friendly about this.
"I'm going to give you a bit of background here, so you understand what we're dealing with." He stirred again, then sipped, and made a face.
Couldn't I pee first? But that was part of this; he wanted me to be uncomfortable. This was his lucky day, then.
"Your boyfriend has made life . . . difficult . . . for certain parties. Now, there are several ways to deal with this. Two of them have been attempted already. I won't bore you with the details. Of the other two ways, one involves his death. It would be expensive and dangerous, so the parties who want him out of the way would prefer other options. That leaves this option. You are captured. He will not alert the company to avoid a certain deal in exchange for you not being tortured to death."
He gave me a hard look and sipped his drink. "We will be as convincing as we need to be," he added, in case I wasn't already afraid. I'm pretty sure he could tell I was. "Torture is such a loaded word, but remarkably effective."
I wanted to tell him this wouldn't work; that Ell wouldn't be doing his job, let alone convincing someone there was nothing wrong, if I wasn't there. They'd have to take him off work. He might even go catatonic or something.
But I wasn't liking the look of the options available right now. I didn't want either of us dead, not to mention tortured. Perhaps it was a good thing I couldn't speak.
"I'm going to let you go now. You can go to the bathroom, take a shower, take a nap if you like. Under no circumstances will you attempt to leave. If you raise a finger to try to harm me, or call for help, or do anything to make my life more difficult than it needs to be, I will remove one of your fingers. I will do this multiple times if I must. If you can tell when people are telling the truth, then you know I have experience."
I nodded hard, even my chin trembling now. I'm sure my eyes were huge and terrified, and my breathing felt funny, little gasps through my nose.
He rose, came around the table, and ripped off my duct tape. I took in a huge gasp. He cut the ropes efficiently, and my arms dropped. I couldn't feel them at first. When I could, they hurt a lot. By that time, I was already in the bathroom relieving myself. I was shaking so hard I could barely aim.
I didn't know what I was going to do to get out of this one. I looked at myself in the mirror over the very suburban sink, and I saw stark fear and a lack of hope in my eyes. I had felt from him the certainty — him reading me, figuring he knew how things were going at this point — that he would have to cut off at least one of my fingers and possibly hurt me pretty badly before I cooperated.
Well, I would prove him wrong on that one. I liked all of my body parts. I didn't want any unexpected and unprofessional surgery, thanks.
I looked out the window of the bathroom quickly, trying to see where I was. I saw a backyard, leafy and green, a house not too far away, a road. Nothing to orient me. Even if I could get out of the window, I didn't think I'd be able to get away before he caught up with me. He had all the weapons and knowledge here. Yes, I could tell what he was feeling, but the only edge that gave me right now was knowing how dangerous my situation was.
I splashed water on my face, drank water from my hands — still burning painfully with pins and needles — and got myself together as best I could. Then I wet my hair and pushed it back, scrubbed my face dry with the towel, and let out a heaving breath. I went out to face him.
"All right. What do you want me to do?"
He looked at me, weighing the situation. Was I faking it? Did he need to hurt me to get me to cooperate? He was on his second cup of coffee, and not in a hurry.
He decided to give me a chance. "You need to call your boss and tell him the job has become too much. You are taking unscheduled time off. You will be convincing. We have already contacted your boyfriend regarding his part in this. If he fails, he will be killed. But to keep them from looking for you, you must contact your boss and convince him. If your boyfriend gives you away, you will be killed — but tortured first. I have to follow through on promises. That's how I keep getting work."
For ISIS, maybe. Asshole! I nodded tightly, my chin starting to tremble again. I wished I could think he was full of hot air and bluster, but this was all in a day's work for him. He had no problem following through on his threats. It would be an affront if he didn't.
"The guard who was with you when you were captured? He was in on it. He has not reported you missing. As far as anyone knows, you've simply gone on a trip. Now you will make the call as soon as you think you can do so convincingly. It's your responsibility to make sure your boss believes you. If he doesn't, you will be killed and your boyfriend will be killed. Neither one of you will be of any use to us at that point."
I swallowed hard, feeling strange.
"You are taking an unscheduled vacation. You are sorry to let him down. You will be convincing, whatever you say. If there are any coded messages in your words, you will be tortured to death. I have some videos for you to watch, so you can see some of my methods, if you'd like."
"That w-won't be necessary."
He looked at me, weighing me. What did he see? Whatever it was, he got up. "I think you need to see."
And so began one of the worst hours of my life so far. I am not the kind of guy who likes horror movies. I don't get a buzz out of it; I get queasy. This was worse, because it was real people he was hurting. It wasn't faked.
I had to throw up. And I was in no emotional or mental condition to make any phone call afterwards. He left me alone in a bedroom with barred windows. I curled up small on the bed, trying not to think or feel, trying only to breathe.
He hadn't actually touched me yet. Maybe he hadn't actually — maybe those tapes were faked. I couldn't stop shaking, and I couldn't stop some tears from leaking out. How was I going to convince Kev? Kev knew I wouldn't run off like this. But there was no way I could warn him, no secret phrases he'd understand. Why hadn't we made a plan for this? Perhaps because it had never been in the cards. This wasn't supposed to be a dangerous job.
In spite of myself, I found myself reaching out, calling for help. I called to the only person who could hear me. Martin.
The connection between us was still there, where it had been since that day at the resort in Switzerland. It had lain dormant for some time now, and it was a silent connection. I didn't hear or feel him all the time; in fact, I'd worked to ignore it, to let it fade into insignificance and obscurity. But now I didn't; now I opened it as wide as I could and shouted down the long, narrow cord between us, calling him with all the sorrow and pain and desperation I couldn't use to call Kevin or Ellery.
Ell. Oh, Ell. I can't let them kill him — or me. What would he do without me?
Martin, Martin! I called him like a small boy desperate and lost in the woods, crying to be taken home. But I had no room for vanity or hesitation now. I had only a desperate need to survive, and a desperate plea to send out.
I hoped he could still hear me. But even if he could, what could he do about it? He was no action hero, either . . .
I put my head down and tried to curl smaller, and gave in to the sobs shaking me. I cried myself out, and collapsed into something like sleep.
#
In the morning, my captor was satisfied with my misery, and thought I seemed suitably broken. No doubt he'd been observing my tears and trembling. Probably with cameras, since I hadn't felt him close to the door. I'd have sensed him if he'd been close enough to listen through the keyhole. That was a good clue he had the whole house wired and could tell whatever I did — not that I shouldn't have already known that.
One thing really scared me more than anything. I had the remarkable ability to piss off even reasonable people who didn't mean me any harm. How would I handle being this guy's captive for who knew how long? I wasn't sure he meant to let me live even if I did everything 'right.' And I'd never done everything right in my entire life.
My captor seemed satisfied when I shuffled cautiously into the kitchen. My level of fear seemed to be about right — which would've been great news if I had been faking it. Since I was actually, literally, as scared as I could remember ever being, it didn't reassure me much.
I was pretty sure I couldn't convince Kev. I was pretty sure I was going to die no matter what. Why would my captor have let me see his face if he didn't mean to kill me?
But even knowing that, I didn't want to be tortured to death, and I didn't want Ell dead. I had to go along, and he knew I knew it. I'd actually believed him right off the bat, but he'd still had to show me those tapes. Now I started trembling whenever he got near me. He approved of that.
"Have some breakfast before you make the call. Remember, he knows you're not there, but the report from your guard is that you left on your own, giving him the slip."
I said nothing. I didn't think I could eat a bite, but I tried. It seemed to please him, and I was slavishly eager to please at the moment, if it would keep me from being tortured pre-phone call.
After? Well, I wasn't sure I'd have much to say about that . . .
He got me an untraceable phone, sat me down at the kitchen table, and faced me, watching and waiting. He had a knife and a gun, both lying in front of him on the table along with some other tools I couldn't even stand to look at. I wouldn't be looking at tools the same way for a while, I suspected. I wanted safe, soft, padded surfaces in my life. Nothing that would make me imagine what he would do with it in his skilled, evil hands, in that oh-so-calm way of his.
I put my head in my hands, mouth trembling.
"Get control of yourself," said my captor. "You have time."
I took it. When I could speak normally, I called Kevin. But no matter what I did, I couldn't keep my fingers from trembling. The fingers I wanted very much to keep, thank you very much.
#
I was sitting at the neat little kitchen table. I took yet another deep breath, trying to tell myself this was okay, this was fine. I just needed to convince my non-boyfriend best friend that I was doing something completely out of character. I had to convince him, or Ellery would die.
Kevin knew me better than anyone except Ell. Sometimes I thought he knew me even better than Ellery did, because Ell wore rose-colored glasses where I was concerned. But then, Kev did too — he'd always believed in me. He'd never betrayed a hint of feeling like I'd let him down.
Which would make it all the harder to convince him that that was what I was doing. I took another deep breath and blew it out. I pressed call.
My captor had already put the number in. Now he reached over, took the phone, and put it on speaker before sliding it back to me.
He waited. Watched me.
He was a very patient predator. Right now, he wasn't nearly as bored as he looked. And he was ready to kill me at an instant's notice and make the call that would end Ell's life as well. I wondered how — and then quickly shot away from that thought. If I started thinking like that, id' never be able to get through this call without breaking down.
No, Ell had to survive. That was the most important thing. And if that meant finding a way to convince Kev that I would leave him, that I had abandoned the job and people I loved without a moment's warning, well, then I'd just have to do it.
"Hello?" asked Kevin, and my first thought was, That's odd. Normally he doesn't answer right away. I'd given the captor his private cell number, which I had memorized. That's where I'd call him, if I was calling to apologize for leaving him. But he rarely picked up on the first ring.
Well, by now he knew I was gone. Of course he'd picked up.
"Kev," I said, cringing a little. "Don't be mad at me, okay?" I sounded plaintive. I glanced at my captor. He was watching me closely.
"Peter, are you all right?" Kev's voice was tightly strung, snapping off the words with great concern.
"Y-Yeah." I kept my eyes down this time. "Listen, I'm sorry about taking off like that, but—" I was going to have to dig deep. I was going to have to put as much honesty into the words as I could in order to convince him. Even if it hurt us both. Ellery mattered more than that — and of course avoiding death by torture was pretty high on my list, too.
"I couldn't take it, Kev. I had to get away. From you, from Ellery. I'm sorry, okay?" I pinched the bridge of my nose, sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I can be a flake, okay? You had to know that when you hired me. I — I don't want to let you down, but it all gets really heavy sometimes, you know? Your expectations of me. Ellery's. I . . . I have to sort some things out, okay?"
Kevin sounded startled and offended. "What, you couldn't let us know? It's been almost two days, Peter. You haven't answered your phone. You couldn't think to say something sooner?"
"I'm sorry. I couldn't."
My captor looked at me and picked up the gun. He aimed it at me casually, not ready to pull the trigger — just reminding me. Apparently saying I couldn't do something was a big no-no. I darted my eyes away from him, trying to remain calm.
"I mean I couldn't face disappointing you, or having you be mad at me. But I had to get away." My voice rose. "I've been feeling so trapped, like I'm a captive there or — or—" I squeezed my eyes shut, trembling. My captor had aimed the gun at me more intently, and his finger had found the trigger. 'Captive' was another bad word, clearly. He was alert inside, thinking I was trying to screw him over — but I really was trying my best.
I started talking faster. "Kevin, I love you, but you drive me crazy, okay? It's like I — I'm your personal property sometimes. Sometimes I don't mind, but when I can't leave the fucking building without security? I mean, it gets to me. And Ell . . . well, I love Ellery, you know I do. But it's like I have to take care of him sometimes. I want us to be equals, but let's face it, we're just not. I never know if, when I do something wrong, if it'll send him off the deep end. He thinks I'm his . . . his fated whatever. But I'm not. I mean, I care about him, but that's such a heavy load to carry for somebody else — to be their be-all and end-all." I huffed out a heavy, annoyed sigh. "I just have a few things to sort out, okay? I'll call you as soon as I can."
Kevin was silent for a heart-palpitating moment. "You could've said something sooner," he said, quiet and reproachful. "I never meant to hurt you. I'm sure Ellery didn't either. He's really upset you'd leave like that. He's trying not to let it bother him, holding his head up, but you've hurt him."
"I know. I'm sorry." I was gulping back tears at this point; it all felt too real, and the gun made everything ten times harder.
"You've let us both down. It's not just a job, you know. You're probably my best friend in the world, but you left without even saying goodbye. I know Ellery will forgive you. He'd forgive you anything, but I'm not sure if things can be the same after this. You never even said goodbye. It wasn't just a job — but maybe it will be, if you ever come back. If you can be bothered."
"Kev, I'm sorry." I was crying now. "Y-You knew I was a flake." It felt real, this apology. Like I really had let him down on purpose. I'd had no clue I was such a great method actor, or whatever it's called. I'd let so many people down in my life that it felt very real. I was used to disappointing people, but I'd never wanted Kev to be one of them.
His voice softened. "Look, you're not only an employee, okay? When you can sort yourself out, call me again. I'll — I'll try to get over this. You know I'd help you in anything I could do, if I could. We'll figure something out. You get yourself sorted out. I'm sorry if I sounded harsh. But I have to see Ellery. I have to see how much he's hurting and upset you've left him."
I gulped. "Look after him?"
"I always do. But you need to come back and talk to him in person if you're breaking up with him. Don't take the coward's way out."
"I w-won't."
"I still love you, okay?" He sighed. "You just drive me crazy sometimes."
"Mm-hm." I was aware of my cynical, watchful audience, smirking at me, but it still meant a lot to hear those words.
"Call me as soon as you can. We can sort something out, maybe, with the work environment. I'm still mad, but I'll get over it. I won't give up on you, okay?"
"O-Okay." I paused to wipe quickly at my eye. "Kev, I love you, too. If you were gay, and I didn't have Ellery, I'd probably fall really hard for you."
He gave a weird laugh. "Thanks, I think? Just . . ." He sighed heavily, sounding frustrated beyond belief. "Just don't get into any trouble I can't get you out of, okay?"
"I w-won't. I gotta go now."
My captor was making motions for me to wind it up. He seemed satisfied with the call, however, which was a good thing. Now if only I wasn't in tears — and if only I'd had a way to let Kevin know what was really going on.
"Eat some croissants for me, you greedy pig," said Kevin. "And call me soon."
"I love you, too." I made a fake kissing noise, and he laughed, short and sharp and still a bit angry. Then he hung up.
I looked at my captor, then reached up and pushed the hair out of my face, my hand trembling. "Well?"
Was he going to shoot me now? He seemed satisfied with what I'd done, but that was no clue of anything else, was it?
He gave a nod and put down the gun. "Get along with your boss pretty well, don't you?"
"He's my friend first."
"I could tell." He got up from the table, taking his weaponry with him. "I'll be keeping you till everything goes through. After that, if there's been no double-cross from your boyfriend, you'll be moved on to a new job. There are a lot of people who'd like your skills. You still have value alive, although I don't mean to turn you loose. These deals have to go through. I've made a promise to my clients."
I nodded, quick and hard. It was good to know I might have a chance at survival. Despite how casual he acted most of the time, he was the most dangerous person I'd ever met. I felt like I was always about one inch away from dying when I was in his presence.
At least he really believed what he was saying. I was still worth something to him, because someone clearly wanted to buy me.
#
I tried to be good. I really did.
I grabbed a bunch of books off the well-stocked shelves in the living room and tried to curl up on the couch and get lost in them. I didn't try to leave the room, hide, or stay away from him. He was more dangerous at a distance. I kept trying to keep my mind and my eyes on the printed words, but I couldn't.
He was pacing and talking on his phone — the same one he'd had me call on, so it was clearly well-protected by some fancy technology counter to being traced or identified. As he paced, he spoke. He was trying to find the highest bidder for me.
"No, he needs to be away from any law enforcement. You can strike them off the list," he told someone over the phone. It was a trusted business contact, but right now the man or woman was filling him with irritation. How dare they suggest someone who might have ties with the police?
He was so methodical about it all; this was a business deal to him. But it was my life. Can you blame me for being a little pissed off?
"Make sure they have a pool," I added snidely. "I need to get my exercise or I go nuts."
He covered the mic of his phone with one finger and frowned at me. I hefted up my book quickly and pretended to read it while still looking at him over the top. I was sprawled inelegantly on the couch, in an effort to get comfortable. I still didn't feel comfortable — even though I normally love sprawling — and I suspected my spine was getting twisty.
"Shut up," he mouthed. The message was clear. I bulged my eyes sarcastically and raised my hands in surrender.
Then I tried — really, I did — to find a comfortable place on the couch and a book that could hold my attention for more than thirty seconds.
I'd never been great at that.
The truth was, it had been days since I'd exercised, days since I'd had someone to talk to without anyone threatening to kill me, and days of living in a powder keg of stress. I wasn't going to be able to sit still for much longer.
The third time I shifted positions, restlessly moving around on the couch — which had started squeaking — he gave me a disgusted look and left the room. I hopped up and went back to the shelves.
Ah! DVDs! Why hadn't I thought of that? Maybe because DVDs had begun to feel old-fashioned to me, since I usually watched streaming movies at home with Ellery. We'd been known to binge-watch. I couldn't remember the last time we'd watched a DVD, though.
Heh. Never thought I'd see the day when a DVD was old-fashioned.
I popped one into the machine underneath the TV, and then searched for a backup while it booted up, in case I didn't like this one.
Always so damn slow. I hate that you can't fast-forward the stuff at the beginning. Does anyone actually ever go to jail for stealing DVDs? Dude, what would he even tell the other inmates if that happened? So embarrassing. You'd have to make up a worse crime to save face...
Could I get a second movie running at the same time? Picture-in-picture? That would be cool, trying to follow both at once; maybe I wouldn't get bored as quickly.
I guess I had it cranked up pretty loud or something. The opening music started with a blare. I rushed to turn it down, feeling his spike of annoyance from the kitchen, and wincing a little myself. Then I went back to looking for more DVDs, checking out the extensive collection. I hoped they weren't scratched; I hated it when DVDs started skipping.
Now, this porn collection . . . that might have a few scratches on it. I didn't bother with it; a glance at the titles and covers of one or two told me that I was definitely not the target audience here. Too many lady parts. I slid them back into their slots on the shelf.
I wondered if they were my captor's style.
I still didn't know his name; he was pretty careful about that. But I knew his face. Then again, I had a feeling he was wanted for a lot of things already, and he probably didn't show up much in polite society. Not that I did either, but you know what I mean — anywhere someone might snatch him and turn him in. He probably had a dozen identities, like James Bond, and lived by his wits.
And torture. Don't forget torture.
I'd begun to whistle along with the opening music. Apparently I didn't whistle very well; he took two angry steps into the room, phone covered, and said, "Will you shut up?"
I made a lip-zipping gesture across my mouth. And then, because I'm an idiot, I held up one of the porn DVDs. "Why don't you watch this and cool down? You're getting awfully stressed out there." Selling me.
His eyes got hard, and his emotions got kind of hard, too. I'm not sure how else to describe it. He pointed to the couch. His eyes blazed at me. His emotions . . . I didn't like what I was feeling.
I shuddered and moved quickly to the couch.
"Now sit still. And turn that damn thing down." He gestured rudely to the TV.
I grabbed the remote and turned the volume down almost the whole way. I was still holding the porn DVD; I dropped it quickly, feeling gross.
Great, now I was stuck with this movie. I tried to concentrate on it, to concentrate on anything. I tried to get comfortable without getting off the couch. I tried to practice breathing, to calm myself down, to use the techniques I'd learned in therapy. The couch was creaking again, damn it.
He hadn't heard.
I should've picked a more interesting movie. This one started so damn slowly, and I'd seen it before. Something with a superhero in it. You'd think it would start out with more oomph. Was that a word, oomph? I wished my brain would shut up. Maybe if I banged my head against the wall. Maybe if I —
He was back, watching me from the doorway. He was silent, but I felt him there and froze, holding very still, not really breathing at all. He moved away just as silently. I glanced back to be sure — yeah — and then grabbed the nearest book. Maybe I could read until the movie got interesting.
This was torture, too! He might not be chopping my fingers off, but he'd confined me to the couch. I'd never done well with sitting still for a long time, even under the best of circumstances, and this wasn't. Boring movie, no exercise, fear for my life, stressed out and jittery . . .
I wondered how Ell was doing. If Martin had heard my calling for him. If Kev was still angry with me. I felt a strange mixture of pride and sadness that I'd been able to convince Kev that I was telling the truth.
Maybe if I got up and paced quietly around the room. That couldn't cause any trouble, could it? Even condemned prisoners could do that. I slid off the couch slowly and carefully, looking surreptitiously towards the kitchen.
I saw no sign of him, but I could feel he was engrossed, thinking hard, and not so grouchy now. There was a lot to decide, apparently. He could get some real money for me, and he was used to dealing in big sums.
Just how much was I worth? And how did people bid on empaths on the black market? That was kind of cool, actually — but in a creepy way. People wanted my skills enough to buy me? I would never be able to function in captivity. I was like one of those high-maintenance zoo animals that die because it's trapped.
The thought was not a pleasant one. Maybe they were willing to get a year or two out of me, on a very tight leash, as a captive (away from friends, home, boyfriend), and then let me die.
There were probably international baddies who'd go for that kind of thing, or rich supervillains (great, the movie was getting to me!), or gangsters. Did gangsters need empaths? To tell when someone was lying to them? Yeah, I guessed; why wouldn't they? Their techniques would probably be as crude as my captors'. I definitely wouldn't last long with threats and violence hanging over my head to perform like a trained monkey, probably in some super-stressed-out situations.
No, I couldn't go along and let him sell me. But what other choice did I have? I had to. If I got sold to someone else, the threat to Ell would (probably) be gone if I got away. What he'd been forced to do — ignore an evil contract — would be done by then. I couldn't stop it, could I? It would be too late.
I would have to at least try to get away. But if people wanted to pay enough for me that this guy was actually somewhat impressed, then —
They weren't going to let me escape. I suddenly felt as though I could scream. As though I could've broken through the window, sharp glass be damned, and run screaming down the street.
Maybe he'd shoot me. But at least I'd be moving when I died. I was going to suffocate in this nice house. Normally, I had no problem with small spaces — and the house wasn't particularly small — but I felt so trapped. I had to move, had to —
He was back. I stilled.
We stared at each other. I could feel him picking his battles, his frustration mounting, his annoyance with me clear but resigned, like I was a naughty child he had to watch, but not for much longer.
On the other hand, he didn't really care if I ate all the candy, just that I not get away or annoy him endlessly. He gave me a hard look and then moved away.
I turned the movie off. It was awful; I'd never be able to enjoy it now. Hey, maybe if I turned on the porn, it would distract him enough that I could get away! Yeah, right. He had ice water in his veins. He'd shoot me before he even glanced at the screen.
I had to do something. I was going nuts here.
Cooking. Maybe I could take up cooking. We had to eat till he sold me, right? But that would mean going into the kitchen, where he was, and no doubt annoying him even more.
I dropped to the floor and started doing curls. Quiet, intense exercise. Yes. That was exactly what I needed. I curled till I couldn't anymore, then did pushups. He looked in on me once or twice, satisfied with my manic quietness.
Damn, he was worse than a teenager on that phone! Would he ever get off? Of course if he did he'd probably start paying more attention to me, and as stressed out as I was, and as annoyed as he was, it was probably not the best idea ever.
I started doing lunges, then jumping jacks.
That was a mistake.
A house isn't a gym; the floor sometimes shakes if you do jumping jacks, especially as aggressively as I was doing them.
He walked into the room, covering his phone again, and snapped, "Go to bed!"
Eyes bulging, I dropped my hands to my sides, got very still, and nodded hard. He was sending me to my room — but his thoughts were sharp as knives. I scurried to the bedroom he'd assigned me, shut the door, and paced around. The door had no lock (at least on this side), and the windows had bars.
But were they real bars, or decorative metal that bent back if you pulled hard enough? They looked like decorative metal, not prison security.
There were no phones, of course, and no TV or books in here, either. The wallpaper was kind of wild, but not enough to keep a person from going nuts. I wanted to scream, to destroy something, but I had to keep caged the wild beast of stress inside me.
I walked to the window and looked out. I could see a section of nondescript, green, rolling countryside, but no helpful labels on it saying 'the south of France,' nothing to tell me where I was.
Was I still in France? It didn't feel like it. Then again, what did France feel like?
Probably not like this, I thought, looking around.
Regretfully, I stared at the metal bars. Then I laid down in the middle of the bed. I made a few bed angels, doing snow angel movements on the sheets, stretching my arms and legs. It was a decent-sized bed; I could've enjoyed if it Ell and I had a bed like this somewhere private and nice. I could've enjoyed being anywhere with Ell just now.
No, then again, I couldn't — not really. I wouldn't have been able to enjoy anything if he were here with me. He'd be in worse shape than I was, less restless but still worse. He'd probably be able to sit still and read a book, though.
Sighing, I rolled onto my side, covered myself with the top sheet, and pulled my pants down. It was undignified as hell, but it might calm me down. I focused hard now, trying to bring Ell to mind, recalling sexy times in the past.
If I could just get through today without going nuts, perhaps tomorrow would be a little easier, or at least offer me more opportunity for movement. I couldn't even be restless without pissing my captor off now — and I couldn't turn myself off.
Well, now I tried. I jerked off a couple of times, cleaned up, and took a quick nap, a little ashamed of myself, but feeling somewhat relieved.
#
In my dream, I saw Martin.
"Pete," he called, looking all around for me in a foggy area where he couldn't seem to see me. It was out in the open somewhere — the landscape from outside this building, perhaps, somewhere greenish and mild, but foggy and half-dark. "Peter!"
"I'm right here!" I started towards him, wondering why he couldn't see me.
He turned to look at me, his mouth opening into a smile, about to say something, a look of glad greeting and relief on his face.
I woke up.
My sleep had been light enough that my dream disturbed me out of it. My limbs all gave a great twitch as I woke up, and I groaned aloud. The light hadn't changed; I had barely slept at all.
Great.
I got up with a sigh to go and take a shower.
My captor had supplied clothing more or less in my size, so I was able to grab some sweatpants, boxers, and a t-shirt. But my shower was hot, and I was still kind of warm from all that . . . well, exercise. When I dried off, I didn't feel like getting into those sweatpants. I shoved on the boxers and wandered out, barefoot.
If he'd been worried about my whereabouts, he gave no sign of it.
"Can I do that?"
He was doing something at the stove.
He looked up and gave me an irritated look, mouth opening to say something. He stopped when he saw me, and the irritation turned to an outright glare. "Put some clothes on."
"Hey." I spread my arms, offended and wounded. "The human body is a natural thing."
"If you want to keep it all in one piece, go and cover it up."
"Seriously, can I cook? I want to do something." I edged closer to see what he was making.
"Clothing. I do not want to have to look at that."
"What, this? I've worked hard on this chest! Okay, okay. I'm going." I raised my hands and backed away, sniffing at the air as a hint that I wanted to know what he was cooking. Was that spaghetti? I couldn't tell. He was stirring something; it was all very domestic. Or it would've been, with someone else.
He pointed a finger at me, eyes narrowing.
"Anyway, nobody says you have to stare," I muttered as I walked away.
He let out a loud, angry breath.
I went into the bedroom and dug around until I could find something I could stand to put on. The t-shirt was oversized, but not too bad. The board shorts were too long on me, made for a taller man, but I was more or less decent, and not too hot.
I went back out to the kitchen humming. "Any chance of letting me go jogging later? You could put some kind of GPS anklet on me or something, right? Or go along with me?" I glanced at him, daring to look hopeful as I moved to the cupboard and got out some plates.
"You're not leaving this house," he growled. He was really getting annoyed at me. Probably hungry, too.
"I can finish that if you want."
"You'd probably poison me."
"Now, would I?" I put a hand against my chest and aped surprise. Actually that was a good idea, but it hadn't occurred to me.
"You can eat in your bedroom," he advised me, an edge of menace in his voice. Damn, I was really getting on the man's nerves.
I sagged, sad at the thought of not having even this jerk to talk to. "Okay."
I said nothing as he finished cooking; it was a pasta dish, but not the kind of spaghetti I was used to. I said nothing while he dished a plate for himself and then I moved over to get myself a plateful as well.
"Is there any cheese?" I asked plaintively.
At that he snapped, and started for me. For a moment, I was frozen, aghast. What had I done now? But he was really angry.
From my brief glimpse of his eyes, I had read a great deal more than I wanted to. He might be unemotional in general, but he was also a killer and a man deadly with pain. I had forgotten that — I had been fighting my stress about being locked up. I hadn't remembered my place, in his point of view.
It was always good to keep his hand in, he felt. He hadn't tortured anyone for a while. He didn't have to kill me, but he did have to make me shut up, the hard way, and that was what he meant to do.
He grabbed the oversized fork he'd held a moment ago to dish out the pasta and started for me. I let out a moan that was humiliatingly frightened. I was reading too much in his eyes, in his emotions, and his smile broadened as he recognized it, recognized that I knew what he meant to do to me — if not the substance, then the painful, cruel effect.
"Oh, no, no, no," I said, desperate, backing away from him now. I shook my head hard. "I can't help it, not really. I just talk a lot."
"Then we'll have to do something about that." He grinned nastily. "Something to your tongue, maybe."
"I d—"
I stopped, like a hunting dog smelling something. I could've raised a paw and pointed with my muzzle, it was that clear, like a ringing bell . . .
He stopped too, and looked back automatically. Then his expression got uglier. "Don't pull any of that psychic crap on me. There's nobody else here. I have all the time in the world with you that I want. I can put off your sale for a few days — or weeks."
His words scared me — scared me a lot, frankly, but I'd have been more frightened if I hadn't recognized the people who were approaching outside. There was the intensity of police officers, or someone like that — someone here to get the job done — and better yet, Kevin and Martin.
I didn't have to get tortured after all. As long as they hurried.
I raised my hands, taking cautious steps backwards, anxious not to trip. He was really losing it. I guess he'd been under a lot of stress lately.
Well, imagine that. So had I.
With the knowledge that backup was on the way, and the man in front of me meant me harm and might shoot Kev or Martin if he saw them in time, I was suddenly braver. Yes, I knew he was stronger and better at everything than I was — we both knew that. And that was why he in no way expected me to attack, or fight back.
I grabbed for the first item at hand — it turned out to be a throw pillow — and threw it in his face. Then I ran.
I kicked a stool into his path behind me — and I kept fucking moving. I ran to the bathroom, because there were no bars on the windows there and there was a small lock on the door. My heart beat wildly and I was terrified. He'd catch me; it was like a nightmare. He was going to catch me and there was nothing I could do —
In the bathroom, I slammed the door shut, locked it, and dashed to the toilet. With shaking hands, I grabbed the heavy top off and turned back to face him.
BAM! He'd gotten through really quickly. Did the lock not work after all? One kick had done it . . .
Now I heard another noise outside, someone kicking open another door — a sturdier one. I felt Martin calling to me mentally, trying to calm me down, but it was too late for that. I threw the toilet lid at my captor, the furious man armed only with a large fork, who could kill me with that (or anything else) easily enough.
He tried to dodge, but it was a close space. The toilet lid hit him hard in the chest, making him stagger back for an instant and shoving a huff of breath out of him.
"Police! Don't move!" shouted an authoritative voice. I heard boots.
My captor gave me one last hard look, debating, even now, whether it was worth it to kill me before he ran.
I stood there facing him, breathing hard, my eyes wild and my heart beating in desperation, hands clenching into and out of fists, waiting to fight him. I wouldn't make the first move, though. With a snort, he moved to the window and began to pry it open. It seemed to be a complicated mechanism, and although there were no bars, it was noisy and time-consuming. No wonder he hadn't worried about me getting out this way.
I stood back and watched, mesmerized, unable to get past him without brushing against him, and unwilling to try. "How did they get past the security?" he muttered aloud. I could feel him calming down now that he had something to do, even if it was run for his life. Maybe he'd been going stir-crazy as well.
I didn't have an answer for him. Then I thought: Martin.
In my head, a familiar voice thought, Yes. I could feel he was pleased with himself.
Martin, you shit, I told him sternly. You snuck in here to turn off his warning systems but you didn't help me?
I'd gone outside already when he started chasing you, he said, annoyed at me for doubting him. Anyway, we're here now. Don't let him go.
I'm letting him go. Fuck you. I don't want to be stabbed with a fork.
Martin's concentration wavered at that point, and we lost our spontaneous, instant contact. It had taken only moments to get that much information back and forth between us — along with a wealth of undertones it would be difficult to put into words, such as how pleased with himself Martin was for coming to my rescue — and embarrassed, too. He had complicated feelings about all of it.
Me? I just wanted to get away from this bastard. He got the window open — it flew up with a bang — and he was gone in an instant, not even looking back. I didn't dare call a taunt after him; he might come back.
I got out of that bathroom quickly — just in time to throw my hands in the air and scream, "Don't shoot!"
I was still trembling — quite hard — when Martin arrived. "He's the hostage, dimwit!" he snapped, pushing his way forward and shoving the sunglasses-wearing square-jawed type away from me.
The man lowered his gun — slightly.
"Don't aim there, either!" I said in a panicked voice. "I need it!" I covered my guts and groin as best I could with two very nervous hands.
Martin pushed the man away, growling, grumbling something about overzealous men and guns. Then he turned to me, and I turned to him, and suddenly neither of us had anything to say.
He'd come to rescue me; he'd heard me. He'd heard the voice of my despair and weeping, and that was deeply embarrassing. But he'd come to get me. I wanted to fling myself into his arms, though at the same time I didn't want to look at him. It was a confusing way to feel.
Then I saw a man I had much less conflicted feelings about. "Kevin!" I flung myself at him and into his arms, almost knocking him back because he hadn't been expecting me. He staggered — we both did — but he squeezed me tightly, not letting go. His hug was tight enough to hurt my bruised ribs, actually. "Kev — Kev — Kev — I didn't mean it," I said against his shoulder, shaking harder than ever now that I was finally safe.
"Yes, you did, but it's okay." He kissed the side of my face quickly, not letting me go. He picked me up — I wrapped my legs round him tightly — and turned away, then carried me outside.
"Is Ellery okay?" I whispered. "Tell me he's safe?" I was crying now; I hated that. I hate crying on the best of days, and this was far from that, but it was all hitting me really hard.
"He's fine. He's safe in a nearby hotel. Come on, we'll get you checked out," said Kev gruffly. "Did he hurt you?"
"Not much. Not really."
He carried me to a place halfway down the street, where they'd set up a command post in someone's borrowed home. Medical assistance was waiting there, and people were coordinating things with radios and computers.
"He's crossing some fields. They'll have him in no time," someone informed Kevin.
Kev gave him a sharp nod, still holding me, and then put me down in the kitchen. Apparently I was as light as a child to him. He stroked a hand very tenderly back over my hair, even as he snapped to someone medical, "Please check over the hostage." Then he added, "You're all right now, Peter. You're all right. And you'll never be locked up again as long as you live, I promise."
#
After that, things passed me by for a bit. I was in a daze; they were concerned I might be going into shock. They took care of me extremely well, but I wasn't really up to talking. Kevin hovered over me like a protective parent when he wasn't barking orders and sending people scurrying around.
I was poked, prodded, wrapped in a blanket, given glucose and painkillers, and tested and questioned carefully by the medics. At last, I was allowed to lie down in a dark room. They let Kevin stay with me. I couldn't bear for him to go.
He held my hand while I fell into a short, fitful sleep. When I woke up, I felt much better, more human. I was able to ask him more coherently about what had happened.
"Can I come in yet?" asked Martin. He was standing outside the door suddenly. As was his M.O., no one else had noticed him at all.
Kevin jumped.
"Come on," I told him, scowling. "As if you ever ask."
"Hey, I asked," he said indignantly. But I felt rueful acknowledgement from him in the undercurrent of our connection. He hadn't meant for us to become so close, either. We seemed to be tied together now, for better or for worse.
It was for better this time, I reminded myself.
Yes, he added. He wanted to tell me something, but he was too embarrassed. He hung back, even though I was sitting up in bed and fully dressed.
Kev was sitting beside me, rubbing a hand on my back, comforting and possessive, still trying to get me to be okay. It felt good, and I needed a bit of grounding. Where Kevin was concerned, I rarely had any personal space issues. I certainly didn't today. But Martin was hesitant to enter the room with us.
I patted the bed firmly. "What happened?" I didn't care who answered, but I wanted answers.
"They caught him. Winged him," Martin said, and coughed.
"Great." My voice was flat and sarcastic. Of course they'd caught him, if he'd been reduced to running across fields! Even he couldn't go up against a whole SWAT-type team armed only with a large fork.
I suspected he'd be haunting my nightmares for a while, but I'd survived — with everything intact, as well, except for a few years scared off my life.
"How did you find me?" I said, trying not to sound as grumpy as I was starting to feel. Was it a big secret?
"I told Kevin what happened, of course, and Martin helped him track you down," said Ellery, stepping into the room. He was so quiet — emotionally, that is — that I hadn't even noticed him, with all the stronger feelings swirling around.
He had the feeling of one who had just arrived, rushing and desperate to see me, but now that he was here, he seemed very still. His eyes and face held strain, but shone warm with love for me.
He looked like he hadn't slept in a week, at least. My capture had aged him — there were tight lines on his face and residual pain in his eyes. Even the way he carried himself looked like he was still expecting another blow.
He'd never looked more precious and beautiful to me.
"Ell!" I jumped to my feet, ran to him, and pulled him into my arms. He was laughing then, and so was I, too hard, like it was going to turn into tears in a moment. I kissed him and nuzzled him, and then just breathed him in, holding on, feeling grounded and real. He held on to me, too, but not very tightly; they must've told him my ribs were bruised.
"You okay?" he whispered to me.
"Mm-hm." I nodded, and then reached up to touch his face, to wipe away the single tear that had escaped. He smiled at me bravely. We held on to each other's hands as I drew him gingerly to the bed and sat down beside him, as close as I possibly could.
"I got here as soon as I could. They wouldn't let me come with the team of security experts Kevin hired." He shot Kevin a narrow-eyed look.
Kevin looked apologetic. "I had no time to wait for the ESRB to mobilize forces. I used some contacts of mine."
Raising a small army even faster than the ESRB could have? That was my Kev.
Ellery returned his attention to me. "I told Kevin about the threats," said Ellery, swallowing hard. "Of course I did. I couldn't handle that myself. I knew Kevin cared more about you than some contracts or other. So we started working on a plan to find you and get you free without alerting them. We went along with it while we were trying to find you."
I looked at Kevin. I knew he cared about me more, but . . .
He seemed self-conscious. "I had the lawyers insert a couple of sneaky clauses into the contracts. We'll have grounds to go back on some things if it turns out we need to." He seemed to feel sure that that would be the case, once everything had been investigated more thoroughly — for years, if need be — and he felt satisfied with that.
I gave a short nod. "Anything else?"
I looked at Martin, wondering what else I was missing. Ell snuggled against my side and let out a sigh. I thought of cocoa and cozy nights curling up together under warm blankets. I couldn't wait to get home with him. I was ready for all the comforts.
Kevin was telling the story now. "I knew you wouldn't have left that way, but we had no proof. When you called me, I let you convince me." He looked at me in a way that said he knew it hadn't all been a lie, even though I'd exaggerated some of my feelings. In his look was gentle acceptance, commiseration, and something tender and protective that promised me he'd help make my life better and safer, so that I'd never have to feel trapped again.
I gave him a little nod, feeling grateful and shy. I'd rather he think it had all been a lie, but at the same time, it was good he knew . . . and best of all that he cared.
"Then Martin contacted us," said Kevin, giving the other empath a grateful, acknowledging nod. "He knew you were in trouble, and while I gathered a team through some trusted security agencies, he worked to pinpoint your location. He put a lot of effort into finding you, and with remarkable accuracy." He gave Martin another respectful look.
Martin was blushing. I looked at him properly and blinked. He'd changed since we'd first met. He'd lost a couple of pounds and grown a goatee. He looked like he wanted to shuffle his feet, then stare down at the tops of his shoes. I thought he seemed vulnerable and exposed in a way he hadn't previously.
"Martin?" I asked gently.
He'd rescued me, and I cared about him, and it wasn't a feeling I could control. He was my family now, too, in that strange way empathic bonding and communication created. I would probably always be able to contact him, whether either of us wanted that bond to stay open or not.
Probably neither of us did. Although, I must admit, it had been wonderful having someone know where I was and come to find me.
He looked up suddenly and looked me in the eye almost defiantly. No, definitely defiantly.
He didn't seem as invulnerable as he had in the past. He seemed shaken by something, perhaps, or worried. I couldn't sort it out, though I could read him better than the brick wall he'd been to me at first. It was still a very dim sort of reading. He blocked me easily, and perhaps even automatically, except for that connection between us, and it wasn't a very clear signal, at least on my side.
"I've quit," he said. "I don't work with corporations anymore. I had a lot to think over, and, well, I'm still thinking. But I'm not working with any big corporations, or little ones. I'm a lone wolf now."
I almost snickered. He sounded so dramatic, he couldn't be serious. But he was. He gave me a hard look, as if daring me to laugh, and I realized he was really a little frightened.
"I don't want to be part of something like that anymore. No offense to your friend, but a lot of people want to use empaths for bad reasons, or pit us against each other, and, well, I don't want that anymore. You're not my enemy. They scared you both pretty badly — even shooting the guy who snatched you — all for the back and forth games over who gets what contract, what money, what ESRB graduate. Well, no thanks. Till I know who I can trust — if anyone — and if there's any value to it at all, I don't have to be part of it, and I won't. And that means the ESRB too, until I've figured some things out."
I digested that, or tried to. "Wait. The people who snatched us in the cab — they shot their own agent?"
He shook his head impatiently, waving the question away. "No, of course not. That was — well, I'm not entirely sure, because they always go through a third party who doesn't know much, so you can't really read too many motives from anyone, but I think it was part of someone's plan to scare you or snatch you. Best guess? Whoever hired your buddy to snatch and threaten you. Someone else was getting in the way, snatching you instead, so the distraction happened, someone got shot, you got away — and it was a fuckup too, because they had to wait till things had calmed down a bit to actually go through with the snatch. But it's all the same. It's all about money and power games. I'm fed up with it."
He looked like he had more to say — a lifetime of not giving a shit having caught up with him, maybe, till he gave all the shits at once — but he stilled and gave me another fierce look.
I tried to look bland and not laugh at him. I was proud of him, really, and flattered, too. He'd only started to care so much recently, I knew — since we'd had our heart-to-heart and had become a kind of reluctant kin. I think maybe diving into my mind had given him new perspectives.
Maybe he hadn't cared about any of that until he saw something in my life that showed how much it could hurt people. That was all conjecture on my part, but he did care, and I was proud of him. He'd had to face some tough realities and make changes in his life, even though it was difficult.
"Thank you."
He gave me a short, sharp nod. "But it's not about you," he added, practically confirming that it was. He scowled again. "I'm — I have some things to do. I'm going to go now." He pointed towards the wall, then quickly towards the door.
Ellery watched him with wide, clear blue eyes, guileless and unconcerned, not understanding. He wasn't scared of Martin because I wasn't. Probably he would trust the man with his life from this point on. I wondered if that trust was part of it, and if it scared Martin as much as anything else.
Martin? I sent a tendril of thought after him, through our connection. I wasn't quite bereft — I had Kev and Ell here, after all — but I didn't understand the way he seemed upset. What was wrong, really?
Scowling, he mentally pushed me away, not roughly, but very firmly. I got the distinct impression he wanted me to leave him alone, though he sent no words or impressions in my direction. I got a bit of them through the connection, anyway.
Oh. It hurt him to see me and Ellery together. It hurt a lot, was too painful to stay and watch. He wasn't jealous of either one of us specifically, but he was jealous, painfully and deeply so, of our relationship. The trust, level of commitment, tenderness, and pure love between us hurt for him to see and feel.
For so many years he'd fooled himself that it wasn't what he wanted — a boyfriend, a partner — but lately, he could no longer hide from that knowledge. It was a pain deep inside him. He wanted someone of his own desperately, someone who loved him unconditionally and would move the world to save him.
And that person was not going to be a woman. It hurt to have his illusions shattered, and to feel so alone. It hurt him a lot, and he couldn't stand to be near us right now. Couldn't stand for me to know, to look at him with pity.
I hugged Ell tighter against my side and shivered.
There was nothing I could say to make it easier for him, no platitudes, no promises. It did hurt to be alone when you desperately wanted not to be. I hoped he'd find someone of his own to love.
But surely it would be easier to find someone — hundreds of times easier — now that he'd finally admitted what he wanted. I sent him no pity, no words, and I turned to Ellery, hugging him closely.
"What did he say?" demanded Kevin, still being my fierce protector. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No," I said. "He didn't." I doubted he ever would. He was very close to being a brother to me, and I was pretty sure it was an unbreakable bond, whatever terms you wanted to use. Even if it wasn't, I didn't think he'd ever wish me harm, much less make it happen. "Everything's okay now," I promised. "But I want to go home."
Kevin relaxed subtly. "I'm glad it's still home," he said quietly.
"It is," I promised.
We looked at each other. I saw the promise in his eyes. Felt the certainty. There'd be no more rules about staying inside, not being allowed to go wherever the hell I wanted.
Apparently Martin had told him something of how I'd been going crazy, locked up in that house. How desperate I'd felt. And Kevin was never going to let me feel that trapped again, even if it meant hiring a thousand security guards to make the world safe for me.
He no longer cared what the higher-ups wanted, if he ever actually had.
Ellery's arms tightened around me gingerly, still careful of my ribs. "Are you all right, really, Peter?" he asked softly. "I feel like you're . . . you're not." He looked up at me with trepidation, worry and dread in his eyes.
Poor Ell. Life hadn't taught him anything but dread for so many years. I kissed him tenderly.
And, because I loved him, I told him the absolute truth. He could handle it. He could handle so much more than most people realized. I would protect him from some things if I could, but I wouldn't lie to him about how I was doing.
"I'm feeling relieved and much better. I'm lucky to have made it, and very grateful to you, Kev, Martin, and whoever those SWAT guys were — except that one with the big gun, who — never mind." I cut myself off hastily, seeing his eyes bulge in fear. I took a deep breath. "But this was a big ordeal, and I have a feeling it's going to hit me hard sooner or later. I really want to be home when it does."
Kev stood up immediately.
Ellery gave me an encouraging squeeze, his thoughts warm towards me, protective, kind, non-judgmental. He seemed to be hoping he'd be able to handle it, if I needed to tell him all the details. He wasn't sure he could, though.
#
"Ell?" I asked cautiously during the plane ride home.
My captor had gotten me as far as England — I wasn't still in France in that house. I wished I'd been able to tell; it would've made me feel smarter about at least one stupid thing. Instead, I hadn't even been able to keep from antagonizing a killer.
I leaned closer and nudged Ell slightly. He'd held my hand protectively for most of the flight so far, but had just released it a while ago to fiddle with his console.
He looked at me inquiringly. "Yes?"
"Was this . . . was what we just went through the time from your vision when we were separated?" I whispered it guiltily, wondering if I should even dare ask him. His moment of aloneness and despair, had it taken place because of my kidnapping? I was afraid to know, but I thought maybe I needed to.
His gaze dropped to the floor, and I felt a rush of pain go through him. "Yes. It was . . . difficult. I had to keep reminding myself that you were going to survive. The feelings were as bad as I'd known they would be, from the vision. Now I knew the reasons for my despair and misery, but knowing didn't help. It almost made it worse. And I had to hold it together."
He drew in a fortifying breath and forced himself to face me. "I asked myself what you'd tell me to do. I kept coming back to, 'Tell Kevin.' It was really hard — they said you'd be killed if I told anyone — but I knew you trusted Kevin with your life. I knew I couldn't save you on my own, whatever anyone expected of me. And I knew you had to survive — you had to."
The certainty in him on that point was a little scary, but it was true. He'd always been able to know his visions were true. If that changed, suddenly nothing in the world would make sense.
"So, I told Kevin. But it was a hard decision to come to. They scared me pretty badly with the threats against you. I'm not going to forget that for a long time, Peter."
"Me either." I thought of my captor and his dangerous rage — and his dangerous calm. "I don't think I'm going to want to go anywhere away from home for a while," I admitted.
"We'll face that when it happens," said Ell, more calm than I felt. "We won't let you become a shut-in." He caught my hand again and squeezed it, looking into my eyes. "I'm going to look after you, no matter what. You're safe now."
I realized that that was just the sort of thing I said to him when he had panic attacks, when his whole world felt unstable and dangerous and upside-down. I always gave him my words to hang on to, and my hand, wanting him to believe in me when he couldn't believe in anything else.
Now he was doing it for me, and it was the truth, too. I could rely on him in every way that mattered. And, more than I could ever possibly deserve, he would keep me safe.
"Thank you," I whispered, and leaned across and kissed him, filled with peaceful gratitude.
I was still dreading the nightmares, the counseling, the fear that had come with the knowledge of what I'd experienced and learned. I dreaded seeing my captor's face, looking for him in a crowd, if he wasn't locked up for life — and maybe even if he was. It wasn't going to be fun, but it was worth getting through all of that.
Because the other stuff? The rest of my life? That, I didn't dread. It stretched cool and clean and beautiful in front of me, looking as welcoming as a clear pool of bright water. There might be good times and bad, but there was usefulness, beauty, peace, and love all there, waiting for me to dive in.
Life was a beautiful thing.
#
About six weeks later, we were having unusually warm weather, and I was taking advantage of it. I was sitting on the roof, stretched out on a canvas deck chair, wearing nothing but sunglasses, a little tanning oil, and a Speedo. I was going for a tan.
Ellery, who couldn't tan if his life depended on it, had shaken his head at my outfit, but I could tell he thought I was hot. He wasn't even good at keeping the admiration off his face. He was wearing a slightly distracted look, like he was trying to be cool and think of other things. But he kept almost-smiling, that look I loved best from him — not nervous at all, just consumed with thoughts of me.
So far, they all seemed to be of me. Maybe someday I wouldn't do it for him, but so far I did, and I could handle that.
He was sitting beside me in a show of support and togetherness, but he was wearing lots of sunscreen and light layers covered him over top of it. The only things we had in common were sunglasses and canvas chairs.
I'd had some bad nights. Ellery had been there for me, the way I always tried to be for him, only perhaps more effectively. I felt useless, stupid, and relieved a lot. I replayed scenes in my mind painfully, more often than I liked. I sat through a whole buttload of counseling, and some of it helped. They even gave me a prescription, but I wasn't comfortable taking it. I hated the way I felt on drugs — floaty and missing — and these turned out to be no different. Unlike the pain meds I'd required after my car accident, I didn't require these; they were just to smooth the way. So I'd let the way stay unsmoothed and had relied on other support, at least so far. I was staying away from big forks, too. They still made me break out in a cold sweat.
Otherwise, things were becoming more normal again.
Kevin and the legal team were going over contracts that had been signed under the duress of my captivity with a fine-toothed comb. They were still looking for the issues, but they had a chance now of fighting them if they ever found the problems.
Somewhere, in a clause, an intention, or a telling little detail, someone had tried to do something terribly wrong. Ell must've stopped it at least once before, but we still didn't know what it was. Ell wasn't sure if he'd have even known something was off this time if he hadn't been threatened, which seemed ironic and awful to me.
I didn't have nightmares every night. I could do my job. I could laugh, smile, enjoy myself. There were just hard moments, too.
Martin had disappeared from my life again, for now. I knew he'd be back if I needed him — and that I'd go looking for him if he ever needed me. I used to want a brother when I was younger, and part of me was sure I'd gotten my wish, in perhaps the worst possible way. Whatever; I would try to stay in contact and stay close in whatever way I could, as often as I could. But right now, he needed his space as much as I did. He needed to work out the whole 'being attracted to men' thing, and anything else in his life that was changing.
Today was a good day so far.
"Ell." I pushed my glasses down and looked at him over the top of them. He looked back at me inquiringly, mirroring the gesture, and arched one pale, perfect brow. I felt a rush of affection for him, and I grinned as I spoke. "Let's just do it, okay? Let's tie the knot. I'm not ever gonna leave you or want anybody else. And I know you love me, too. So let's just do it."
He looked startled at first, then grinned. His jolt of surprise, followed by a mellow enjoyment, made me stare at him. He tried not to laugh — and almost made it.
"What? Did I ask wrong?"
"No. It's very sweet of you. I think we're not both ready, though. I'm not sure if that makes sense, but I have the feeling we'll know. The time will present itself, and it'll be easy. I don't want you asking because you think I want you to — that we might as well. We'll be ready when it's time, I think. And if I'm ready before you are, then I'll ask. Okay? So, don't worry about it. We'll get there, or we won't — and I think we will. But maybe not today?"
In the history of turning down marriage proposals, that had to be one of the best. It was a lot better than my asking. I nodded, feeling ashamed of myself. "I guess that was a pretty dumb way to ask, wasn't it?" As usual, I'd said what had popped into my head, not what would go over best.
But Ell was staring at me affectionately, a smile on his face, as if he didn't mind at all. "No, it's not that. I thought — ah — when you asked, that you were going to suggest something else."
It was my turn to raise my brows. "Oh! Did you . . . want me to suggest something else?"
He pulled his sunglasses back down to cover his eyes quickly and tried to smother his wicked grin. "Kind of."
Mm. I could work with 'kind of' — especially since what he really meant, on the inside, loud and clear as a shout, was YES.
"Shall we move this indoors?" I asked. "I'd had to see you burn that cute ass of yours."
He ducked his head, almost suppressed his giggle — and nodded. I hopped out of my chair and reached a hand down to pull him to his feet, grinning.
The day had just gotten even better.