Unfinished Business

by B. G. Thomas

  She jumped again.

  Mike trembled with excitement. For some reason, this woman could hear him. Now if she would just try his cell.

  “Daph,” Townsend said, “you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”

  She glared at him. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

  “Use the goddamned password!” Mike bellowed. “Three, six, eight, fucking five!”

  Her brows shot up and she looked down at the cell phone in her hand.

  “Yes!” he cried again.

  “What are you doing, Daphne?” Townsend said.

  She ignored her partner and tapped at the little screen on the phone. “Well, I’ll be damned,” She muttered as the phone came to life.

  Mike nearly yowled with excitement.

  “How the fuck did you do that?” Townsend asked.

  She shrugged. “I… I don’t know….”

  Now if only she would….

  “Well, look here,” she said. “He was on his way to meet someone. Told him to….”

  She stopped talking, and Mike blushed when he realized what she’d read.

  Be naked and in bed when I get there.

  “What?” Townsend asked, looking over her shoulder.

  “Do you frigging mind?” she said, moving the phone so he couldn’t see it. “It doesn’t matter. What we know was that he was texting someone when this happened.”

  “Fucking texting and driving,” Townsend said with a scowl.

  Don’t I know it, thought Mike. Stupid goddamned way to die.

  “I’m going to call the… person,” she replied, and Mike was hit with two things.

  One, she was being discreet, for which he was grateful. Two—two!—she was calling Joel. She would tell Joel what had happened. She would….

  And then that hit Mike too. It was if his stomach had turned to lead.

  Oh no…. Oh, Joel. Oh, Joel I am so sorry….

  Daphne dialed.

  And then….

  —Swish—

  6

  HE’D MOVED again!

  Once more he felt dizzy, lightheaded. How was this happening? Was he doing it? This… this moving?

  Joel wasn’t in the room, but the minute his cell rang—the theme from Mission: Impossible—he came striding out of the bathroom—all gorgeous and godlike, a force of nature, cock swinging—and snatched up the phone. “Mike! Baby! Where are you?”

  And, of course, Mike knew what he was about to hear.

  He moved to Joel, reached out to touch him, drew his hand back. Couldn’t stand the idea of touching his beloved and feeling only a statue.

  Watched.

  “Who is this?” Joel asked.

  Oh, God. What have I done?

  “You’re a police officer? Where’s Mike?”

  It was horrible to watch.

  The color drained from Joel’s face first. Then he sat down hard on the end of the bed. If it hadn’t been there, he might have hit the floor. Mike had reached out to help him, but, of course, it was like trying to grab a falling safe.

  I can’t affect anything anymore.

  Joel began to shake. “Wh-What are you saying?” He listened for a moment and then closed his eyes. “Oh God. God, please no….”

  Mike went to his knees and reached out—touched Joel’s. Yes, it was like touching a mannequin. But he needed to touch the man he loved. He squeezed. Squeezed stone. Instead of sweet, soft flesh.

  This was horrible! In so many ways.

  Oh God.

  “No. I—I’m not… I…. Yes….” Joel shook all the more. Tears were spilling openly down his face. “The Mmm…. Meridian Hotel. Room 708. Y-Yes. I’ll wait.”

  Joel dropped his hand between his knees. The phone fell to the floor, and then so did he. He collapsed into a heap. “Nooooooo!” he wailed. “God, please, no!”

  And there was nothing Mike could do.

  7

  A KNOCK on the door. Joel was sitting on the floor. He had stopped crying, but he hadn’t dressed yet.

  Mike had tried to talk to him. Even tried the yelling that had worked with the woman cop, Daphne Brookhart. It hadn’t worked.

  The knock came again. Joel looked up. “Wait,” he said, and then louder. “Hold a second.”

  Joel got up and went to a suitcase that was open on a stand inside the closet. He grabbed a pair of black jeans and stepped into them, then pulled a sweatshirt over his head. He didn’t bother with socks or shoes, went to the door, peeked through the little hole made just for that, and shuddered. Seemed to waver for a second. Then he opened it.

  The woman police officer was there, but not the man.

  Mike stood watching, clenching and unclenching his hands. Thank God. She was the one who could hear him.

  “H-Hello,” Joel said. Tried to say.

  “I’m Detective Brookhart with the Kansas City Police Department. Are you the gentleman I spoke with on the phone?” She looked down at it. “Joel Kauffman?”

  He nodded.

  “Any relation to the Kauffmans?”

  “N-No,” he replied. “Not hardly. God decided to give me to the poor Kauffmans instead.”

  “May I come in?”

  “I’ll let you in if you tell me you’ve made a mistake,” Joel told her. “That he’s not d…. Not… dea….”

  Joel couldn’t even say it, could he? Mike felt as if his heart would just fold in on itself. It was dreadful. It hurt so badly. Who had ever had to watch something like this? Watch someone tell your lover that you were dead?

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Kauffman. I-I can’t do that.”

  Joel staggered again, and Mike had to keep himself from darting forward to help. He couldn’t help him. Ever again. In fact, all he’d done in the end was hurt this sweet, kind man. He was doing it right now.

  Luckily Dt. Brookhart was able to help Joel—and she stepped in quickly and took his arm and led him to the bed. “Sit down,” she said. It was obvious she was concerned, and it felt as if it were more than just professional. It brought out a loveliness Mike hadn’t noticed before. But, of course, he’d had far bigger concerns, and the fact that she had made no move to look feminine didn’t help. She had short but curled hair—what might be considered an efficient style, especially for a cop. No makeup. Not even the simplest of earrings. So different from his wife, who was all dresses and skirts and low-cut blouses and appointments at expensive beauty parlors, never one hair out of place unless it was for effect.

  “Can I get you a drink of water?” she asked.

  Joel pointed at the dresser. “There’s a bottle of whisky over there. How about some of that instead?”

  Imagine. Joel drinking whisky. He’d bought that for Mike because Mike couldn’t take it on the plane with only one suitcase, and he did like to travel light.

  “Sure,” she said, not so much as batting an eye, and went to the dresser and picked up the bottle. Johnnie Walker Black Label. Not Mike’s very favorite, but Joel was a regular working-class guy—barely making more than minimum wage. That he’d paid something like forty dollars for a 750 ml bottle meant a lot to Mike, and he was surprised to realize it almost brought on the tears again.

  Mike didn’t cry. Lori would have approved, he thought. Strange that Joel could bring out any emotion. Had made him feel more alive than he ever had in his entire life.

  Trouble was….

  I’m not alive. And with that thought came that strange “highness” again. Disembodiment.

  Disembodied!

  He laughed. Laughed. At a time like this.

  Had anyone ever given the concept of “disembodied” more validity?

  “Ice?” Brookhart asked.

  “Yes, p-please,” Joel answered and pointed again. “There’s some in that bucket thingy.”

  God. That hand. That arm. Mike caught himself staring. He was reminded of his LSD days in college. How fascinating normal, everyday things—like hands—could be. But, of course, he was very familiar with Joel’s hands. So perfect, smaller than
Mike’s own, but still masculine. He loved the light spattering of hair across their tops. Carefully trimmed nails without being manicured. Those hands had touched him, held him, rubbed the pain of all-day meetings from his back, stroked his cock….

  Brookhart brought Joel a glass, and he took a surprising swig, coughed, grimaced. He’d never gotten a taste for whisky and said so.

  Brookhart shrugged. “I’m a Bud girl myself.” Although “girl” is never a word Mike would have used to describe the woman.

  Mike felt a sudden weird disorientation. A… ripple. God. He staggered. What was that?

  “May I ask you a few questions, Mr. Kauffman.”

  “Joel, please,” he said. “But can I have another of these?” He held out the glass, ice clinking.

  “Of course,” Brookhart said, and got it for him.

  When Joel was sipping the second one—sip, wince, sip, wince, and Mike continued feeling that drifting otherworldness again—Detective Brookhart began her questions.

  “I’m sorry Mr., uh, Joel. But there’s something I need to ask. How well did you know Mr. Ellsworth?”

  Joel blushed—so did Mike—and focused his attention on the glass in his hands. “I think you can guess.”

  “Yes, but I need to know.”

  “Why?” he asked, head snapping back. “What does it have to do with anything?”

  “Because if he was chatting with you when the accident happened, that will need to go in my report.”

  “But why?” Joel jumped up, and tears sprung to his eyes.

  Mike looked away. He felt like a voyeur. And why not? Wasn’t he? He felt like he should leave, but if doors were anything like people, would he have a chance of opening them?

  I need to do one of those “swish” things again. Trouble was, he didn’t know how he’d done it. Or even if he was indeed the one doing it.

  Brookhart sat on the edge of the bed. “Joel. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you and Mr. Ellsworth were having an affair.” It was a statement really. Not a question at all. She had read the texts, after all.

  Get your clothes off. I want you naked in bed when I get there. Hardly the kind of thing one straight man said to another.

  Joel’s eyes darted back and forth.

  Brookhart placed a hand on his shoulder. “I can leave what you two said to each other out of my report. Who knows, maybe a lot more. You can tell me, although from the texting, it’s pretty obvious.”

  Joel looked down at his drink. “We couldn’t stop, you know? It was like that line in Brokeback Mountain. About not being able to quit you?” The tears were flowing freely now, and they stabbed in Mike’s heart. “I loved him. And he loved me. He didn’t say it, wouldn’t say it back. But I know he loved me.”

  Now Mike wanted to cry once again. He suddenly felt quite solid, quite… rooted. Here. Very here in this room with his lover—his lover—and the police detective. “I did,” he said. “I do.” At last. Out loud. And Joel couldn’t hear it. The pain that came because of that was immense.

  “Yeah. I get it. I find it hard to say myself. Probably lost me the love of my life. She couldn’t take it.”

  Joel looked up. “She?”

  Brookhart nodded. “When I read the texts, I told my partner to stay with the bod—with the car until the ambulance got there.”

  Joel’s brows shot up. “Ambulance? Does that mean there’s a chance…?” Hopeful.

  Brookhart shook her head. “I’m no doctor, but I don’t think so….”

  Joel closed his eyes, drew in a shuddering breath. “I told him not to text and drive. More than once. He told me he had to for business so why not for pleas—”

  Joel stopped talking, but Mike knew what he was going to say. Pleasure. Mike had said it more than once.

  Brookhart squeezed his shoulder.

  “We met a year ago,” Joel said. “He comes to town once a month to teach… and consult. This software stuff.” He shrugged. “I never quite understood everything he did. He invented it. Did you know that? Or he helped….” He smiled. “So smart.” Another shrug. “We never talked much about work.”

  In fact, they didn’t talk much about his “real” life at all. Mike bit his lower lip—hard. Trying to feel. Not feeling much at all.

  “We hardly talked about his other life,” Joel said quietly. “I knew I should have stopped seeing him. He felt so bad the first… time… that I was shocked when he called me a few weeks later.”

  Mike plopped down on the desk. The chair was tucked in, and with no way to move it, the desk was the only place to sit. And right now, it was sit down or fall down.

  Joel was right. He’d felt so guilty the first time. Not only because he’d cheated, but because he’d finally broken down and had sex with a man. Not that he hadn’t been tempted before in nearly twenty years of marriage. He had. He’d had plenty of chances as well. He wasn’t movie-star gorgeous, but with his square jaw and deep brown eyes and full head of brown hair, he’d never had a lack of suitors—female or male. But he’d always known that if he cheated once—even once—with a man, he’d have crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. And that after he’d done it once, there would be nothing to stop him from doing it again. Somehow, he’d resisted by the very skin of his teeth.

  But then he met Joel. One look across a crowded room, and it was done. He knew. Knew this man would be the one.

  “I had to go to this training thing through my company,” Joel was saying. “Well, not had to. I wanted to. It would be good for my career. But once I saw Mike, that was it. I hardly heard a word he was saying. I knew….”

  Mike closed his eyes. God. God, God, God! This hurt! Hurt so fucking bad. Hurt to lose Joel and have him right there in front of him.

  Goddamnit, why didn’t I tell him how I feel?

  “I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Joel said.

  “It’s okay,” Brookhart said.

  “He felt so bad that first time,” Joel said. “Th-the next morning. I did too. I don’t cheat. I don’t help people cheat. He told me it was a mistake, and he couldn’t be with me again. It hurt to hear, but I knew he was right. He was married. We shouldn’t have done what we did. But that night we were in his bed again. Every night that week. And then every time he came to town after…. God.” He let out of sob. Wiped at his face. “Mike, I love you!”

  “I love you too,” Mike exclaimed.

  And Dt. Brookhart jumped as if she had been goosed. Looked around her, eyes staring wide. She rubbed her arms. Shivered.

  My

  Mike jumped to his feet. “Tell him!” God, he thought, his eyes wide. Oh my God! She… she heard me, didn’t she? She really can hear me! He shouted. “Tell him that I love him. Please. Tell him I love him!”

  “I love him,” she cried.

  “Wh-What?” Joel asked, obviously surprised.

  Brookhart jerked, looked at him, and then shrugged, gave him an uncomfortable-sounding laugh. “He loves you… loved you… I’m… I’m sure.”

  Joel’s eyes rounded. “How would you know?”

  She opened her mouth and closed it. “He’d been seeing you for a year, hadn’t he?”

  “Maybe he just liked to fuck me,” Joel said and raised his palms and covered his face.

  Mike winced. Joel didn’t really think that, did he? “Tell me you don’t think that,” he said to a man who couldn’t hear him. Yes, he liked to fuck Joel. Loved it. Had never dreamed there could be such exquisite pleasure. But it wasn’t just Joel’s ass and how it felt to be inside him. It was a connection he’d never known two people could have.

  “He certainly wouldn’t let me fuck him,” Joel said, standing and walking over to the full-length windows. He leaned his forehead against the glass. “Maybe he was just some married dude getting his rocks off on the down-low.”

  “No!” Mike groaned. Not just getting his rocks off. Yes, they were a secret. Yes, it was true he wouldn’t let Joel… fuck him. Because being fucked somehow made it all entirely too rea
l. Too gay.

  But of course he was, wasn’t he? Gay? And what a fine time to admit it. He’d always been homosexual. But he’d had things he wanted in life. Being gay would have made those things harder to get—harder to have.

  He’d seen it through the years, over and over. Women, gays, recently the transgendered. not live in Heard their words. “We might the times we would wish for, but through our work and by our example, we can forge the bridge to those better times.”

  But Mike didn’t want to be a bridge-builder. He didn’t want to be a pioneer. An example. The guy to break the mold. He didn’t want to be the token gay. He didn’t want to be the one to show people that gays were just like them. That probably made him a coward.

  If times were different…. If it were fifty years from now, it would be different. When Mike had started his career, there were far too many businesses that wouldn’t have had a thing to do with him if they’d had even a clue he was gay.

  And through the years, he’d watched things get better for gays. Saw them coming out. Saw laws change. State after state passed gay marriage.

  But by then it was too late. He was married. He was married to a woman who was his partner in every way. What was he supposed to do? Leave her?

  So instead he resisted having sex with a man. He resisted and resisted.

  Until Joel.

  And now it really was too late.

  Oh, it hurt! It hurt so bad.

  I’ve fucked everything up. For Lori. For Joel. And for me!

  “Are you’re sure he’s dead?” Joel asked.

  Brookhart sighed. “Pretty sure. I’m sorry. Not a doctor, but—”

  Joel turned from the window, a hopeful expression on his face. Mike didn’t. He knew things Joel didn’t. That he was dead. He was here, wasn’t he? Invisible? And even if he was revived, what kind of brain damage would he have?

  Oh, Joel. Baby. I am so sorry.

  Brookhart shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself. I’m not a doctor. But I still couldn’t find a pulse. And I’m not a rookie. Hoping will only make it worse.”

  Joel looked away. “How could it be worse!” There were still tears wet on his cheeks.

  “Let’s talk about the wife,” Brookhart said.