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Bruce?" Alice suggested. "Drop me off at the diner. I'll
bring you guys back some food or you can meet me there
later."
"Good idea," he said. "Maybe we'll join you there
later." He said it, but he didn't believe it, not in the state
Bruce was in.
Twenty minutes later, he dropped Al off at the diner
then continued on to the hotel. When he'd parked the
vehicle, he got out and crawled into the back beside Bruce.
"Are you going to talk to me, or just tune me out?"
"You could have gone with Alice. I'm okay," Bruce
said, but he didn't look at him.
"You don't seem okay," August replied, relieved
that he was finally speaking.
Bruce looked at him now. "My mother said
something to me before I left that room."
"What did she say?"
"They were all around me."
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"They? Bruce I think your mother may be…"
Bruce shook his head. "That's just it, August, I've
been remembering things, pieces of things, voices,
laughter. Clay was there; he was there. Clay was afraid. I
know that now. The fear I felt was his too. And that
someone chasing me through the woods wanted to find me,
has been looking for me all this time. He knows I'm here,
and that's why he's here."
"Who?"
Bruce stroked August's cheek. "We have to leave
here or something terrible is going to happen. They have
us, like rats in a trap."
"They? Bruce, Clay is dead."
"Not Clay, him, him, August, and he's not alone."
Bruce opened the door. "Listen, I don't want talk anymore.
You don't believe me anyway."
"Believe what exactly?"
"Never mind. Why don't you go eat with your
friend? I just want to be alone."
August watched him get out and walk to the hotel
entrance. He sat back against the seat, his eyes closed.
A firm rapping on the glass caused his eyes to fly
open a few minutes later. Desmond peered in on him.
"What are you doing sitting alone in the back seat?"
August reached for the door handle and got out. He
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could see the back of Desmond's cruiser around the side of
the hotel. "I needed a minute."
"Where's Bruce?" He glanced around.
"Inside. Don't worry. He didn't run off."
"So, what happened at the prison? Did she say
anything we can use?"
"Not much. We'll have a meeting tomorrow."
"She give you any names, any idea of what could be
happening, why she sent those messages to your boy
there?"
"No." August stretched and yawned.
"You look tired. Want to get a beer?"
He was tempted to say yes because he just didn't
want to walk into that hotel room and talk in riddles with
Bruce anymore. He shrugged. "Why not? I haven't eaten
yet either. They still make those good burgers at the bar?"
"Sure do," Desmond said. "Come on, buddy, we'll
take the cruiser."
* * * *
Bruce watched August walk across the parking lot
with Desmond Johnson. He clutched the material of the
curtain in his hand, only realising how tight his grip was
when a part of the curtain ripped off in his hand. He will
leave you soon. Who will you have? You will be alone.
Desmond is so much better for him than you. They have
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more in common, more to talk about, and he doesn't walk
around filled with fear and anxiety all the time. You're a
loser, a basket case who hears voices, imagines shadows
coming to take you away. They should lock you up again.
"August," he gasped, "don't. Don't go."
* * * *
"Darcy French stood out," Desmond replied when
August inquired about how the interviews were going.
"How so?"
Desmond chomped down on his burger. He wiped
his mouth with the napkin as the waitress brought them a
pitcher of beer. "Thanks, hot stuff," he said.
August sat back in his chair, waiting for an answer.
"He's thirty-nine, still lives with his mother, never
had a girlfriend. You know the kind."
August nodded. "That doesn't make him a killer,"
August said, "although he fits the profile of someone in the
closet, maybe even someone who likes young boys." He
picked up his burger and took a bite.
"He was nervous when we interviewed him, a little
evasive. Asked him why he volunteers at the high school so
much, and he said he likes sports."
"What does he do for a living?"
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"He works at the arena in the winter, takes care of
the ice. In the summer, he does odd jobs. Don't think he's
that bright."
"Is he developmentally delayed?"
"He attended special class as a kid. Wouldn't call
him retarded though, maybe borderline. We can get a
specialist to take a look at him if you like."
"Anything concrete? Evidence that puts him at the
scene or…?" August took another bite of his burger as he
looked at Desmond.
"Not yet." He grinned. "Give me time."
"That's the problem, Des," August replied, sipping
his beer. "We don't have a lot of that. Affleck is breathing
down my neck. He sent me three emails today. He wants
another report."
Desmond finished off his burger. He poured them
both another glass of beer and stayed quiet as August
finished the rest of his meal. "Cole slaw is good," August
commented.
"Yeah," Desmond agreed, "they make it fresh. This
is nice, just like old times."
Like old times, August thought. Did he and Des
have any "old times"?
"Remember when we were at the academy?"
August nodded.
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"Remember when I invited you to spend the
weekend with me, and you went off with that new training
officer, what was his name… Paul—"
"Doesn't matter, Des," August said, cutting him off.
"That was long time ago."
"I still remember it." Desmond's voice grew angrier
as he went on. "I really thought we had something, thought
that you were going to spend that weekend with me, and
instead you spent it fucking that cocky, hotshot from…
Where in hell was he from? New York?"
"Desmond, what is this all about? Did you bring me
here for this?"
"While you were fucking him, your brother was
getting his head cut off." He laughed and met August's
horrified gaze. "I hope to hell that bastard was good."
August sat back in his seat as if someone had stuck
a machete in him. He melted against the seat, his throat
working.
"Don't look so shocked." Desmond shrugged his
broad shoulders. "Someone needed to say it, didn't they?
And instead of learning your lesson, you're doing the same
thing again. You let Tommy down, August. You came
close to finding a killer the last time, and you got distracted
by a sweet little blond angel with a firm ass, an angel with a
black heart."
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"You fucking son of a bitch," August said under his
breath. He wasn't sure if he was saying it about himself or
about Desmond. He looked up, met Desmond's self-assured
gaze, and swallowed the pain those words caused him deep
inside. "I almost forgave you for the last time, the last
stupidity that came out of your mouth. We were getting
along fine again and you… Why? I don't understand what's
happened to you, Desmond."
"What's happened to me? What's happened to you,
August? I admitted my mistakes. I missed my opportunity
with you. I was a coward who hid in the closet when I
should have just taken hold of you and made you mine
when I had the chance. Now I've admitted that. You admit
your mistakes. You betrayed me, led me on, made me think
there was something… fucked me so…" He stopped. "Then
you went off with him, and you were punished for that."
"Punished? Desmond, there was nothing between us
except a few nights of rough sex, that's it. I made no
promises to you."
"But I've changed."
August leaned across the table. "I love Bruce."
"You're a fool. He's no good for you."
"So be it." August sat back in the chair.
"At least you admit he wasn't your best decision,
August, that you can never really be sure about him. Don't
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tell me you've never had doubts deep in your gut."
August sighed. He looked around the bar. It was
almost empty. "Doesn't everyone have doubts about
everything?"
"Even if Bruce didn't wield the weapon that cut off [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]