Unquiet (34 page)

He numbly reached for the afghan and wrapped up in it, then folded himself into a little ball in the corner of the large leather couch. What did Loren want to talk about? Ending things? That he was tired of Eliot’s shit?

Not only that, Loren was headed to a murder scene, a scene where someone he knew had been killed. What if the killer was using this person as bait to get Loren out there? Maybe the murderer wanted to kidnap and torture Loren, then kill him and toss his body out in the desert to rot.

Eliot knew these were irrational fears, knew Loren had a gun and other highly trained police officers around him. It still didn’t stop the horrible thoughts from battering against his skull, making his head pound, his heart race. With shaking hands he picked up the TV remote, tuned in to the local news channel, and stared. Even when there were other shows on, commercials, Eliot was still glued to the screen, afraid to look away, afraid almost to blink. He couldn’t miss it, couldn’t miss hearing something had happened to Loren. There was no one else to tell him, no one that would care.

All night long he sat that way, his eyes burning with exhaustion, his head throbbing. At last a little after dawn, his phone buzzed, and he pulled it to him, looking dully at the screen. A text from Loren:
All’s well. You okay?

Eliot fumbled around a little, but managed to type a reply:
I’m fine. You home soon?

He waited but the phone remained silent. A half hour ticked by, then an hour. Another type of fear and paranoia crept in. Maybe Loren didn’t want to answer because he didn’t want to tell Eliot that he wasn’t coming home. What if he wasn’t really working, but was out with another man, a man who wasn’t batshit crazy and needy and stupid? Loren deserved a better man than Eliot.

Still no answer from Loren, and Eliot struggled up from the couch and headed into the kitchen for a drink. The junk drawer, half-ajar, caught his eye. He pulled it open and took out the keys to his old apartment. Why not? He’d be moving back there soon anyway after Loren got rid of him; might as well go see what needed to be done.

Forty-five minutes later, he stood in the musty entryway of his tiny studio. It was neat and organized from the cleaning lady who had been in weeks ago, but the Arizona dust had still managed to settle everywhere, dancing in the light, making Eliot sneeze.

He poked around for a bit, looking in the closet, opening drawers, seeing bits and pieces of his old life staring up at him: the garters he’d strap around his thigh or upper arm to hold his club tip money; the small pot of body glitter; his Speedo. Suddenly he started to shake.

He didn’t want that life anymore! He wanted a life with Loren, the life he had now. And it was so obvious Loren wanted out, just like Eliot knew he eventually would.

Stupid crazy loser.

The fridge came on, the whirring of the motor filling the dusty silence, and as if in a dream, Eliot walked over to it and pulled the freezer door open. It was an old-school fridge with an ice maker and bucket to catch it in, and the white plastic bin was overflowing with ice.

Eliot reached behind it all and felt the smoothness of glass, lightly sheened with a coat of frost. He pulled out the vodka bottle and held it up to the light, watching in fascination as the liquid within shimmered. Fumbling around behind the mound of ice again, Eliot withdrew a small plastic-wrapped bundle of money, money Loren had missed when he cleaned out the freezer all those months ago.

Eliot put the money and the bottle down on the counter and stared at them for a while, and then pulled his phone out. Still nothing from Loren. The killer had gotten him, or Loren had left him. Either way he wasn’t ever coming home.

You’re such a fuckup. A worthless piece of shit.

Reaching out with shaking hands, Eliot unscrewed the top to the vodka bottle. Lifted it to his lips.

And drank.

LOREN PARKED
his truck in the substation parking lot and sat for a minute, staring dully through the windshield. The case had spiraled out of control in the week and a half since Ginny’s murder, just like Levi told him it would. Leads had to be chased down while they were fresh, informants interviewed and reinterviewed, on and on and on. Everybody was stretched so thin and under so much pressure, the urgency to build the case against Cholito and his crew growing by the day.

Loren was able to run home now and then, grab a shower, maybe a few hours of sleep. Eliot was there sometimes, and sometimes he wasn’t, out volunteering or visiting Sam in the homeless park. Loren had fallen into relying on the text-or-call system to check on him this past week, and he was jolted earlier that morning when he realized it was three days since he last laid eyes on Eliot.

Donovan and Rebecca were reporting that Eliot was answering his phone as usual, but a few hours ago, Donovan called Loren and said, “Is Eliot doing okay? I didn’t like the way he sounded just now.”

“What do you mean? I got a text from him this morning and he said he was fine.”

“Something about his voice, Loren. It just raised some alarms. You might want to check on him.”

Loren promised he would, but it took a couple of frustrating hours before he could break away. When he got home, Eliot wasn’t there and everything looked normal, but Donovan had sparked a sense of unease Loren was unable to shake. He grabbed some changes of clothes and stuffed them in a duffel, intending to drop them off at the station and tell Levi he needed to take a personal day.

Loren blew out a huge breath, getting out of his truck and striding inside the station. There was some kind of commotion going on in the lobby where the information desk was. Loren heard shouting and saw a cluster of people milling around. He ducked his head and headed for the Authorized Personnel Only door, only to hear his name called out in a very familiar voice.

He spun around and saw Eliot charging right at him.

“El?” he started to say, just as Eliot flung himself into his arms. Loren staggered back under the weight of Eliot’s body, caught off guard, almost going down to the floor. He managed to right them both.

“Loren!” Eliot shrieked delightedly, wrapping his arms around Loren’s neck. “I came to see you, but the asshole over there”—he stabbed his finger in the direction of the desk sergeant—“said you weren’t here. But I knew you were here because you’re
always
here. You’re always here and never at home with me, and I missed you, I missed you, I missed you!” His voice rose even louder with the last sentence, and Loren winced.

He tried to disentangle himself from Eliot, but Eliot clung to him like a limpet, peppering Loren’s face with kisses.

Loren grasped Eliot’s wrists firmly and unwrapped them from around his neck, pushing him back a little ways.

“Eliot, let’s go see Dr. Bab—why are you all wet?” It was true; Eliot was soaking wet from head to toe, and Loren became aware of how his own clothes were sodden from Eliot pressing against him.

Eliot grinned at him, trying to insinuate himself into Loren’s arms again, and Loren grasped his shoulders and held him back.

“It’s because I haven’t showered in a few days,” Eliot whispered loudly, “and I didn’t want to smell bad when I saw you. I saw a hose outside, so I sprayed myself down with it. Smart, huh?” He flung his arms out to the side and turned in a slow circle before inching up to Loren again.

“I knew you’d want me to be clean so you can fuck me right away. It’s been so long, baby!”

All of a sudden he jumped up and wrapped his legs around Loren’s waist, sending Loren staggering again, and he involuntarily closed his arms around Eliot as he tried to steady them both. Eliot threw his head back and started a lewd grind, tightening his thighs around Loren’s hips.

“That’s right,” he leered. “So horny for my man. Way too long since you’ve been inside me, Loren!”

Loren pushed Eliot off of him and shoved him away a little harder than he intended, and Eliot slipped on the water droplets covering the floor and fell.

“What the fuck?” he cried, his grotesque playfulness vanishing in an instant. Loren reached down to help him up, and Eliot grabbed him and yanked hard, bringing Loren crashing down on top of him.

Immediately Eliot slithered to the side, making a show of kicking him away. “No, you don’t get to fuck me now, Loren! Not when you shove me down and treat me like shit, like the fucking prick you are!”

“Eliot—” Loren pleaded, reaching for him, just wanting to get Eliot out of there. Loren was way beyond his depth, and the situation was wildly out of control. He was aware of the dead silence in the lobby, of the scores of people standing there and staring at the spectacle the two of them were making.

He pushed himself to his knees and grasped Eliot’s arm, intending to help him up, and suddenly his head rocked back as Eliot smashed his fist into Loren’s face. In an instant a couple of uniformed policemen were on him, flipping him to his stomach and wrenching his arms up behind his back.

“No!” Loren cried out, but Eliot had just assaulted a police officer, and the unis were trained to take him down.

Eliot writhed like a fury beneath the men, screaming invective, and he got an arm free, lashing out. One of the uniforms reached for his Taser, and Loren grabbed him without thinking. The man shook him off, staring at him with incredulous eyes.

“Don’t tase him!” Loren pleaded. “He’s with me! I’ll take him. I’ll take responsibility. Let him go. Please, man, just let him go.”

Eliot was still thrashing on the floor, and Loren sat down next to him. The policemen released him and stepped back, their hands hovering over their Tasers. Loren pulled Eliot into his arms, wrapping him up in a Krav Maga hold, immobilizing him.

“Call 10-92,” Loren gasped, meaning an ambulance. “Tell them it’s a 918 situation.” Insane person. Loren could feel his heart breaking as Eliot heaved and thrashed in his arms.

“I hate you, Loren,” Eliot hissed. “I hate you! When I get loose, I’m going to kill you! I’ll stab you right in your throat, watch you bleed. And I’ll laugh and laugh!”

Loren held him tighter. “It’s going to be okay, Eliot,” he choked out. “We’ll get you some help. You’ll be okay.”

“I don’t want your fucking help!” Eliot shrieked. “I hate you! You’ll never fuck me again, you know that? And oh, how you like fucking my tight little ass.” He started to moan loudly, mockingly. “That’s you, right? ‘Oh, Eliot, it feels so good to fuck you!’” His moans rose louder until he was parodying an orgasm. “That’s what Loren sounds like when he comes!” he shouted to their audience, all of whom had shocked looks on their faces, some mixed with pity, most with disgust. “He wrecks my ass with that huge cock he’s got too. He gives it to me hard and rough, holding me down, making me take it!”

Goaded beyond endurance, Loren hissed, “Shut up,” and Eliot threw his head back, smashing the back of it hard into Loren’s mouth. Loren could feel the blood from his cut lip welling up and running down his chin.

“
You
shut up, asshole!”

Eliot started up the stream of invective again, alternating the profane sex talk with graphic descriptions of how much he hated Loren and wished he was dead. Loren held on to him, not daring to let him go, turning his face away to try and avoid more head smashes.

He was dimly aware of Levi crouching at his shoulder. “Bus is on the way,” Jackson muttered. “Called in as a 918 with restraints needed.”

“Don’t take him to County,” Loren pleaded, raising his voice above Eliot’s screams. “Call Dr. Ellen Babcock. Her number’s in my phone.” He nodded his head to where his phone lay next to his hip, dislodged from his pocket by his maneuverings with Eliot.

Jackson reached out and picked it up gingerly. “Smith, I don’t—”

“Please, Levi,” Loren begged. “He’s my—he’s my boyfriend, and he’s mentally ill. Call Dr. Babcock and she’ll arrange his admission at Desert Grove. He’s been admitted there before, and they know him. The staff know him there.”

Levi was still staring at him and Loren shouted, struggling to hold on to Eliot as Eliot made a renewed bid for freedom. “Please, Levi! Call her! And tell the EMTs to take him to Desert Grove!”

Eliot rammed the back of his head hard into Loren’s cheek, and Levi nodded, swiping his finger across Loren’s phone and scrolling through his contacts. Loren could have sobbed his relief, and just then paramedics ran in with a gurney. One of them busied himself with attaching thick leather restraints to it while the other two helped Loren wrestle Eliot onto the stretcher. The restraints were wrapped around his wrists and ankles and locked down, and Loren stepped back.

“Fucker! I hate you!” Eliot hissed malevolently, glaring at Loren.

“It’s going to be okay, Eliot,” Loren whispered, swiping the back of his hand across his bleeding mouth. “It’ll be okay.”

Just then Eliot’s eyes filled with tears and he started to cry pitifully. “Don’t let them take me, Loren,” he begged. The paramedics lifted the gurney to its full height, locking it in place as they started to push Eliot out to the waiting ambulance. “I’m sorry!” Eliot wailed. “I didn’t mean it, Loren! Please don’t let them take me.”

He craned his head around as he was pushed out of sight, arching his back against his bonds, his green eyes huge in his bone-white face.

“Please, Loren!”

Loren pressed his lips together to stop them from trembling as Eliot was whisked away, and suddenly Levi was there, handing him his phone.

“Called that doctor and told her what happened,” he said. “And I spoke to the lead paramedic. He’s on his way to Desert Grove.”

Loren turned to Levi, clenching his fists at his side, his body starting to shake with reaction.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “He’s very sick. I didn’t think—”

“Just go,” Jackson replied grimly. “Go and do what you need to do. Galaz is pretty much ready, and Lewis can take over prep from here. Just—just go.”

Levi turned and walked away, and Loren numbly picked up his duffle from where it had been kicked into a corner during the melee. The room was still silent, people staring as he made his way out of the station and into the parking lot, all of his concentration focused on putting one foot in front of the other.