by C J Baty
A mixture of aroma’s, from somewhere in the building, wafted their way into the bedroom. It smelled like a mixture of coffee and bacon. Oh god, when was the last time he'd had bacon? He was hungry. Hungrier than he'd been in ages. Slipping on a T-shirt he found lying at the foot of the bed, Damien got up. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd stood or walked on his own, so he stepped with care. How long had it been since his meltdown at Starlings? Damien had no idea.
Stopping to take care of morning business and wash up in the bathroom, he then walked down the hall. He could hear people talking as he went.
"How long do you think he'll sleep?" Justin's concern was clear in his voice.
"As long as he needs to," came Marcus's reply.
The closer Damien got to the voices, the more his stomach grumbled. As he stepped into the small eat-in kitchen, it growled loud enough for all to hear.
Damien chuckled at the expressions on his friends' faces. Marcus and Justin hadn't heard his approaching footsteps.
"Good morning," Justin said as he stood from his seat at the breakfast table to hug Damien.
Marcus offered Damien a seat and poured him a cup of coffee, setting it on the table in front of him. The steam swirled around the cup, drifting off into the air.
Damien warmed his hands on the cup, blew on it, sipped and then choked back a cough. "Sugar! I need sugar!"
Now it was Justin and Marcus's turn to laugh. Justin got busy filling a plate with scrambled eggs, strips of crispy bacon and cinnamon toast. He placed it in front of Damien, and Marcus brought a container of sugar.
After sweetening the coffee, Damien dug in. He was famished and everything tasted so good. The silence in the room wasn't threatening, but Damien knew his friends had questions. When he'd finished and pushed away the plate, he watched as Marcus filled his coffee cup and waited.
"You were right all along, Justin," Damien said. "It was Carter. He's behind everything."
"I'm sorry, Damien." Justin rubbed his hands together as he spoke.
"Justin and I planned on paying a visit to your assistant, Tony. We hoped he could give us a lead into what happened at Starlings,” Marcus said. “But he’s not been back to the newspaper office since you were admitted to the hospital. No one has seen him.”
“Since we couldn’t reach Tony, I convinced Marcus to wait until you were ready to tell us what happened” Justin added.
"There's no reason not to talk about it. I made a fool of myself—again."
The three of them stood and walked over to where a couch and overstuffed chairs formed a conversation pit. Damien pulled his legs up under him and held his cooling cup in his hands. Justin sat on the other end from him, his body turned toward Damien. Marcus took one of the warm brown chairs.
Crossing his legs, he picked up a notebook and pen from the table beside him.
"What happened?" Justin asked.
"I've been working on a real estate scam story for the last couple of months.
Though lately, Tony's been doing much of the research, since I'm avoiding a maniac."
"Always the jackass." Justin looked at him smugly.
"Anyway." Damien smirked at his friend. "Tony stumbled onto something we'd missed before. After several wealthy clients complained, he connected the dots that led to a company based out of Houston."
"What's that got to do with who's stalking you?" Marcus asked.
Damien sighed. "Michael Winehouse is the front man. He would act as the agent, convince the clients they were getting a real bargain, but the sellers would only take a cash payout at closing. Looks like they were producing phony mortgages for the clients. Everything looked legal, but in reality the mortgage was never filed. The houses were always vacant and the new
owner could move right in. A few months later, the owner is notified that the property isn't theirs and has been sold to someone else. The first buyer would lose the house, and their money was already long gone."
Marcus asked, "Are you sure it's Carter working with Winehouse?"
"I wasn't, until Carter called me a few days ago. At least, I think it was Carter. I'm not sure at this point. What day is it, anyway? The days have all run together for me." Damien hated admitting he was still confused.
"Friday, but what the hell, Damien. Why didn't you tell us Carter called you?"
Justin yelled. "And what do you mean you aren't sure it was Carter?"
Shocked at learning he'd lost three whole days, Damien waited until the cobwebs cleared from his mind. "Yes, I'm sure. Well, I'm sure Carter is involved. Tony showed me a picture of Carter at Starlings and said he was the man who had been to the office on two different occasions, looking for me." Damien took a breath before he continued. "As far as the phone call goes, the voice was muffled. To be honest, I was so upset when I thought it was Carter, I just hung up. I turned off the phone and tried to forget it happened. Whoever it was never called again."
"Well, that's a good thing." Justin huffed. "It proves we need to go back to The Warfield. Carter doesn't know to look for you there."
"No," Marcus said before Justin could go on.
"I don't think the hotel will be safe enough. He needs to be someplace Carter couldn't possibly know about." Marcus reached into his pocket, retrieving his cell phone. He one-clicked a speed dial number and waited for someone to answer.
"Where are you? How long until you can get here?" Marcus listened, then added, "No, we haven't seen the news. I understand. It's imperative we move quickly. See you in a little while."
Marcus put the phone down on the table and looked at Justin and Damien.
Damien could already tell, he would not like whatever it was Marcus was planning.
"How soon can you pack?" Marcus asked Damien.
"Marcus, I can't leave now. We have to find out where Tony has disappeared to and I have to keep working on this story. If I finish, there's enough evidence to put Carter away for a long, long time." Damien stretched out his legs, preparing to stand.
"I understand that, but there's something you don't know," Marcus said, looking between Damien and Justin. Damien could see Justin was just as confused as he was.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell either of you before, but Michael Winehouse is dead. I got the call from Tom Culliver while Justin was in the shower."
"What?" Damien jumped to his feet. "When? How is that possible?"
"The police in Houston found his body in a rental car that was parked in the lot of an abandoned factory building on the outskirts of the city. The information you had on the company confirms why Winehouse was found in Houston." Marcus looked down at the floor, then back to Damien. "They contacted the Atlanta police because of a bulletin I had put out, wanting to know any information on him."
"The police believe he'd been dead for several days. He'd shot himself in the head."
Damien tried to make sense out of the situation. It didn't fit for someone like Winehouse to commit suicide. He wasn't the type. Michael loved himself too much. The man was a cheat and a lowlife, that was true. He'd steal anything he could get his hands on. But suicide? No, that just wasn't Michael Winehouse's style.
"Before you say anything, the police don't believe it was a suicide." Marcus grimaced. "They found over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash stuffed in a duffle bag in the trunk. The car is registered to a phony real estate company. It could be one of those you discovered." Marcus hesitated.
"There's more?" Justin asked.
"There was also a one-way ticket to Costa Rico in the bag with the money."
"Why would anyone who was planning to leave the country with that much cash park his car outside an abandoned building and kill himself?" Justin asked.
"Exactly," Damien said, then looked at Marcus. "He didn't. Was the murder weapon in the car?"
This time Marcus smiled at Damien's question. "No, it was outside the car on the ground. The driver-side door was open, but only a few inches. He could have dropped the gun when he shot himself, but
it doesn't seem likely. His body slumped to the right, not to the left toward the door. Michael was right-handed. It doesn't seem likely that he would shoot himself with his left hand."
"Carter?" Damien held his breath as he spoke the name.
"It's possible. The Houston police mentioned nothing about Carter... yet. It won't take them long to connect the dots. And if he is involved, taking you back to The Warfield could be a mistake."
The doorbell to Marcus's office downstairs rang.
"I'll be right back. I need to go downstairs and let him in." He rose and headed toward the door.
Damien looked at Justin. "Let who in?"
Justin shrugged.
A door opened then closed. Footsteps carried Marcus and their visitor up to the second floor. Voices echoed softly outside the apartment door before it opened. Damien's eyes focused on the door as Marcus led Robert Wyler into the room.
"We have no time to waste. The latest report said an ice storm would come in first. Followed by eight to twelve inches of snow, then more snow as another wave blows in. It isn't going to be pretty," Robert said.
"I can't believe it," Marcus said. "Snow in Atlanta. It seems so farfetched."
"What are you talking about?" Justin asked.
"Why are you here?" Damien added, looking at Robert.
"You haven't told him?" Robert asked, looking from Marcus to Justin. "Oh, hell."
"No," Damien repeated for the tenth time. Arguing with Justin was getting him nowhere.
"Justin, I don't want to do this." Damien's frustration got the better of him and he shouted, "I'm not doing this, and that's final." He slammed the door to the closet, making the hinges bounce and rattle.
"Why?" Justin asked calmly as he continued to put clothes in Damien's bag.
It was a simple question. Damien wished he had a simple answer.
"It would be just as easy, and far less trouble, for me to take a plane out of the country. I could go to a monastery somewhere in the Himalayas."
Justin laughed, and added Damien's toothbrush to the open bag on the bed.
"Did you find your heavy coat? We don't know how much snow they'll get in the mountains. The ones in Tennessee." Justin chuckled, then added more socks to the bag.
Damien grabbed the socks out of Justin's hand and shook them in his face.
"Stop with the socks already." He threw the parka he had pulled from the back of his closet across the bed. "Justin, this isn't a good idea." Damien sighed.
Justin pushed the coat and bag out of the way. Making room for them to sit.
Damien wished he'd had time to put sheets on the bed, but it had arrived while he was in the hospital. This was the first time he'd been back to his apartment in a week.
"You will not be alone. Robert will be there."
Damien flinched at the mention of Robert's name. He couldn't face being alone with Robert because he didn't know if he could keep a repeat of their
last time from happening again. It was too much temptation, and he didn't want to hurt Robert again.
"That's just it," Damien said. He stood and paced. "You are probably the only person who will understand this, but Justin, I haven't been able to let anyone close since.... I mean, sure, there have been one night stands, but nothing else."
"It's okay, Damien. I know."
"Well then, you should understand that being close to Robert is not good. I'm no good for him. He deserves someone better."
Justin stood and stopped Damien, forcing him to turn and look at him. "You like him."
Damien couldn't deny it.
The fist to his jaw came out of nowhere and knocked him on his ass. He grabbed his cheek and stared at Justin, not believing his friend hit him.
"What the hell?"
"That's it! I've had it with the excuses and blaming Carter for everything you don't want to face." Justin's face flushed with anger as he yelled at Damien.
"You hit me," Damien uttered under his breath.
"Give yourself some credit, Damien. Stop living in the past. Stop putting the blame for what happened on your shoulders. It wasn't your fault." Justin exhaled and pulled Damien to his feet. "Carter Preston was...is a sick man.
What happened to you should have never happened. He abused your trust and love for him. It does not mean that you won't ever find love, a real honest love, again. You've got to let yourself be open to feeling again. If you don't, you're still his prisoner."
Still rubbing his jaw and staring at his friend, Damien heard what Justin said, and realized.... "Okay, so you're right, but you fucking hit me!"
Justin laughed, left the room and came back to hand Damien a bag.
Damien held the frozen peas to his cheek. "Sometimes, I can believe it wasn't my fault," he admitted. "Most of the time, I wonder why the hell didn't I see it coming?"
"Damien—"
He held up a hand to stop Justin from continuing.
"What I do believe is, I was forever changed by my relationship with him, and it's not fair to dump this on someone else. Not someone as special as Robert."
There was a knock at the apartment door and Damien went to answer it. He already knew who was on the other side. Whether Damien thought it was a
good idea or not, Robert would stand there with Marcus. They would carry his shit downstairs and pack it into Robert's Jeep. Then, Robert would take him to some cabin in the middle of nowhere Tennessee to hide from the maniac who had ripped his soul in two once already.
Chapter Fifteen
Robert was staring at the man sitting in the passenger seat of the Jeep. The man who hadn't said two complete sentences since they'd left his apartment in Atlanta.
"Oh my god! Robert, look out," Damien screamed. He was pointing at something through the front windshield.
Robert looked up in time to see a car in front of them swerve out of the middle lane and bash into a truck. The truck hit the cement barrier dividing the highway and then swerved back to hit another car in the middle lane.
The freezing rain had followed them out of town and the roads were covered with ice. Everywhere Robert had looked along the interstate highway, he'd seen cars off the road. They had just entered the outskirts of Chattanooga when the pile up in front of them happened.
Thinking quickly, Robert veered the Jeep to the right and shifted into four-wheel drive. He drove through the gravel median and into the grass, passing around the accident. They had nearly been one of a dozen cars in the pile up. By the time he had the Jeep back on the road and stopped, the crash site was behind them. Robert phoned for help and it wasn't long before police cruisers and medical assistance arrived.
No one seemed to be in critical condition. For the most part, folks were just shook up, and there were a few with cuts and bruises. The car that the truck had hit lay on its side, but thankfully the driver was wearing a seat belt, and the airbag had held him in place after imploding. He was the only one the EMTs had to take to the hospital by ambulance. Two hours later, Robert and Damien were back on the road.
The drive to Robert's cabin would normally only take about four hours, but with the accident delay and the weather, they would reach the cabin well after dark. The wind was blowing the icy rain in from the north. They were leaving the below-zero weather behind them, and the rainy ice was becoming fat snowflakes. Just outside of Chattanooga, it came down faster and harder. By the time they reached the cutoff at the Lenoir City exit, they had been in the Jeep for almost six hours. They still had seventy miles of back roads to go.
Damien had grumbled to himself continuously after they had started back on the road again. He now turned to Robert in a huff. "We have been in this fucking Jeep for hours. I need a bathroom break. And I'm hungry."
"I was planning on getting off at Lenoir City to fill up," Robert offered. "We can take a break there."
"Great," Damien griped. "Truck stop food."
Robert pulled into a large gas station just off the exit ramp. There were dozens of cars lined up, the owners
filling their tanks so they wouldn't be caught short in the coming storm.
"I'll get the gas," Robert said. "Why don't you go ahead and I'll meet you inside?"
Without another word, Damien undid his seat belt and opened the vehicle door to get out.
Robert watched as Damien pulled his coat tight around him and crossed the parking lot to the station's service center. He was next in line, and got out when he stopped the Jeep beside the gas pump. After pulling out his debit card and sliding it through the slot on the pump, Robert grabbed the handle, bringing it to the Jeep. He was just putting the gas cap back on when a teenage boy came running out to the car that sat in the slot next to his. The kid didn't have a coat on and he shivered as he pulled out the gas pump and placed the nozzle in his car. The grin on his face was huge, and he kept shaking his head back and forth as he jumped up and down to keep warm, saying, "I can't believe it" over and over to himself.
With the tank full, Robert went to find Damien and take a bathroom break himself. They met as Damien was walking out of the Subway Restaurant attached to the service station. He held a bag with two foot-long sandwiches in one hand and a drink carrier with two large drinks in the other.
"Figured you'd like anything as long as it had double meat on it." Damien smiled at him mischievously.
"And you got a veggie with extra cucumbers and green peppers for yourself," Robert quipped back at him.
"You bet."
The kid Robert had seen pumping gas outside appeared in the doorway, still grinning, covered in snow and shaking.
"Mister," he said as he approached Damien. "I don't know how I'll ever repay you. But you saved my life. You must be some sort of guardian angel or something. Thanks again." The boy grabbed Damien around his waist and squeezed, while Damien struggled to keep from spilling the drinks and dropping the sandwiches. As soon as he let go of Damien, the kid disappeared back through the store and out into the storm.
