Busted (41 page)

"You know what, dammit."

"I'm not doing anything," Chris said.

"Oh, bullshit," Steve said. "You've been fidgeting all day. Just fucking call him."

"Call who?" Chris asked. It was a feeble question and they both knew it.

"Don't even," Steve said.

"There's no point. He's gone, and calling isn't going to get him back." Plus Chris didn't have his phone number. Joe's apartment number was in his file, but Chris didn't have his cell.

"Like hell," Steve said. "You want him, he wants you. You call him up, you apologize for whatever dumbass thing you did, then you kiss and fucking make up. That's how it works."

"It doesn't matter," Chris said. "He's gone. Packed up and left."

"So he bailed out of his apartment for a while," Steve said, waving it away. "Big deal, he got stabbed. That's enough for anyone to want to get out."

"No. I think he’s gone for real. I fucked up, he walked."

"Where's he going to go? He moves somewhere else in the state it's not like you can't find him."

"Maybe, but… never mind, it doesn't matter." Chris sighed. "I blew it. I'm going to go. I don't have anything to show for today anyway. I'm gonna take a drive past Joe's apartment and his office, in case our guy's hanging out there."

"We should be so lucky," Steve said.

"Yeah, well, it happens. Sometimes they're stupid."

"Not the psychos."

Chris shrugged. "Always a first time. And maybe it makes sense to him."

Plus it'd give him one last chance to look for Joe, just in case he really did come back. Not that Chris expected it, but he could hope. Hell, he could beg. He was willing to beg at this point.

* * *

Chris pulled into the lot of Joe's apartment complex. There were a few people out walking in the early evening. Not Joe, though. And not his perp. Nothing to catch his attention and he went back to brooding. He didn't notice the beat up blue Jetta that pulled out behind him as he left.

* * *

Joe was trying to bring himself to eat dinner when his cell rang. He'd picked up Chinese on the way back to the hotel, but his stomach just wasn't up to it. The food sat, cloyingly sweet sauces congealing as it cooled. The suite was filled with the smell of overcooked pineapple and burnt garlic.

The day had been pretty much a total loss – he'd spent it all in his office moping. Joan had given him a wide berth, telling anyone who called that he was out on vacation. He might as well have been, for as little good as he'd done.

And now his phone was buzzing. He was tempted to leave it. It had already rung over to his voicemail once, but whoever was on the other end had just called right back. The display didn't show any number, and that meant it was Steve. Or Chris.

They'd keep calling, though. He knew that. Steve wouldn't let this go, he wasn't the type. Not letting things go was his job. But, then, so was Chris', and that just made it worse, knowing he wasn’t something Chris felt the need to hang on to.

He almost hoped it was Chris. He could yell at Chris. Yelling would be good — he was perilously close to begging, and Joe hated feeling so desperate he’d take any scrap of secret affection. Chris didn’t do guys, not in public, and Joe knew better than to get involved with someone like that. It always ended in tears. Or a fistfight, though that had a certain appeal at the moment.

"Yeah, what?" he asked, answering the phone with a sigh.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" It was Steve. He was worked up, almost shouting. That was good. Joe could deal with shouting.

"I'm leaving, Steve. Sorry, I thought I made that clear."

"You were clear, all right. Clear you were running—”

“I’m being
chased
, Steve. Remember? Psychopath with a knife? Out for me and my relatives?”

“I wasn’t talking about him. I was talking about Chris, dammit.”

That hit Joe like a slap. "He doesn’t want me, you bastard!”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. "That's a load of shit, Hennessey," Steve finally said.

"You have no idea, Steve. This isn't any of your business. Just… leave it alone." Joe fell onto the couch. A stab of pain shot through his shoulder. It couldn't match the pain in his heart.

"Like hell I will. I thought you were better than that. Turn everything upside down and then run away? You're a fucking coward. Do you have any idea what you're doing to him?"

"Doing to him? Him? What about me? What do you want, Steve? Should I go back? Smile and nod and pretend he wants me?"

"What? Jesus, what got up your ass?"

"Lately? Nothing," Joe snapped. "That's part of the fucking problem."

"Just 'cause you're not getting laid isn't a reason to take this out on everyone else.”

"Everyone else? Where the hell do you get off, Russell, judging me? What am I supposed to do, get introduced when people visit as his roommate? The guy renting the spare bedroom? 'Hi, this is my friend, Joe?'

"I mean, what the hell, it's not like I'm important to him or anything. Just some guy he ran into who puts out sometimes and watches the kid on weekends. And, y'know, it's no big deal if I make myself scarce when the guys from work come over. They'd just ask questions and that'd be fucking inconvenient.

"Hell, it'd be better if I kept my apartment. Less trouble that way, and hey, people won't see, y'know? That way nobody has to know anything." By the end of that Joe was standing and nearly shouting into the phone.

“Christ, you get hit on the head when you got stabbed, Hennesy?”

“Y’know what, Steve? Fuck you. I’m done and out of here.” Joe snapped his phone shut and threw it across the hotel room.

“Damn it, I need a drink,” he muttered.

* * *

Joe sat at the nearly empty hotel bar, staring at the rum and coke in front of him. He’d braved half of it already, and while it was making his shoulder a little number, he could feel the his brain start to fuzz out too. That meant the monsters were lurking just out of sight, waiting to move in. He had a vague hope that since the hotel was a new development they wouldn’t. He shook his head at the thought.
 
With his luck the place was built on top of an ancient burial ground or something.

He threw back the rest of the drink. Joe didn’t really care, right then, if the monsters did come out, and they could buy their own damn drinks if they did.

“Hi babe,” said someone from behind him. A pair of arms wrapped around his torso, nudging his sling and making his shoulder hurt.

The voice was familiar. “Chris?” he asked, with a surge of hope he almost hated to hear in his own voice.

“No, Alex. You haven’t forgotten me already, have you?”

“Alex? I thought you were gone,” Joe said. His hope had turned to confusion. Alex had
left
, packed up and moved. He’d seen the empty apartment himself, but now Alex was here sounding as if nothing unusual had happened.

“I’m sorry about Saturday, Joe,” Alex said, moving to stand next to Joe. “I had to go right then. It was—”

Joe cut the explanation off. “You left me. You ran and you never came back.”

“No, no!” Alex protested. “Something came up and I had to leave. I didn’t mean to make you think I was gone for good.”

That's when something registered on Joe's mushy brain. Alex was sitting next to him, blocking his view of end of the bar, but Joe could still see the bartender as he stacked clean classes.

"I went to your apartment," Joe said. His voice was flat.

Alex's smile faded. He slid into the stool next to Joe.

"I can explain," Alex said. He sounded nervous.

"I can see through you," Joe continued, ignoring the look of panic Alex got when he said it..

"I went to your apartment and you weren't there. You'd never been there. Nothing was there. It wasn't even your apartment. And I can see through you."

Joe was rapidly sobering, though the alcohol still fogged his mind. He ran his hand along Alex's arm. It was Alex, he could feel him, but he was a little unreal, as unreal as Joe was drunk.

"You're not real," Joe said. That just hit him, and it explained so much — how he got into Joe’s apartment without a key, why Joe had never seen his car, how he always seemed to just appear.

"I am! " Alex insisted. "I am," he said, more quietly this time. "You… you make me real."

Joe sat back and started to laugh. He couldn't help himself.

"I fell in love with a ghost," he said.

"I'm not a ghost," Alex said. He was almost indignant, and sounded for a moment very much like a child.

"Then what are you?" Joe asked.

"Just… Alex."

Joe pulled him into a tight hug. For a moment nothing mattered but the man in his arms. Joe needed Alex and he was there, but it wasn’t enough. Memories of holding Chris hit him. They were so similar. They looked the same. To his body they felt the same. That faint feeling of unreality was there, though. It had always been there, he just hadn't realized it until recently. Not until he had something to compare it to.

"You're like Toby's monster," he said as he let the embrace fall away.

"I am not a monster," Alex said. He was almost petulant.

Joe waved it away. It was making sense now. Alex wasn't Chris’ twin. He was Chris’ echo. "You're him, aren't you? Chris?"

Alex slumped down. He looked defeated. "He was my friend. But he didn't need me any more. Didn't want me around any more."

He looked so sad that Joe couldn't help but reach out to pull Alex in to try and comfort him. "Why me?" he asked.