by Inge Mayhem
Chapter 4
Single Shot
Drew returned home from his catch-up with Florence to find Brad and Michael looking very awkward in the kitchen.
“Hi guys!” he called out gayly, hanging up his bag in the hallway.
“Hi Drew, what’s happening?” Brad chirped cheerily.
Drew immediately got the distinct impression that he was interrupting something. Michael looked especially guilty and was blushing furiously. Brad gave Drew a cheeky grin.
It was one of the hazards of living with a new couple—Drew felt like he was always walking in on their privacy. The closer he looked, the more it seemed that Michael had buttoned up his shirt in a hurry, and that he had mismatched a few buttons on the way. Brad was also standing strangely, and Drew mused that he was trying to hide an erection. Drew chuckled at the thought.
“Oh, unfortunately, not much is happening,” Drew replied. “I’ve just been chasing a lead on a new place to crash though.” Drew hadn’t planned on saying anything to the boys yet, but it suddenly felt like the right time to give them some space, or at the very least to let them know that they might be able to spend some alone time soon. “You’ve been so kind these past few weeks, and I want to make sure I don’t overstay my welcome.”
“Don’t be silly,” Brad replied, but Drew noticed that Michael gave Brad a sideways glance.
“Well, I’ve been in town long enough to get settled. I know where I can find my dad, if I eventually decide to confront him. So, if I’m sticking around, I should put down some roots,” Drew answered.
Michael moved around the kitchen and started to brew some coffee. “Well, I’m sure the boys at the local gay bars will be glad to hear that you’re putting down roots.” He said it in a tone of obvious innuendo. “In fact, some of my friends have been asking about the mysterious new redhead in town. Word travels fast.”
Drew laughed. “Oh god, dating is the last thing I need right now.” He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter. Drew immediately thought of Tyson.
“Any news about Tyson?” Brad asked, as if he had read Drew’s mind.
Drew’s expression changed. “No, I just met with his friend Florence: no update yet.”
“What do you think happened?” Michael enquired. It was the first time he had outright asked Drew about Tyson’s disappearance.
Drew paused. “To be honest, I think he was kidnapped.”
“Really?” Brad sounded surprised.
Michael shot his partner another wary glance. Drew couldn’t decipher exactly why Michael was acting so strange, but something about his behavior had changed recently.
When he had first met him, Drew suspected that Michael was jealous of him. Drew was a young, single gay man who moved unexpectedly into Brad’s house. To Drew, a jealous reaction seemed like a perfectly rational response.
But Michael had no way of knowing the truth—that Drew’s romantic situation was tragic. Drew had a secret, very brief sexual encounter with Brad’s married brother, Hank. So, Drew had sworn off any further men, for a while at least.
Drew had moved to Long Harbor City to put as much distance as he could between himself and the marriage that he almost destroyed. It was a secret that he had no intention of sharing with Brad or Michael.
But now, in the wake of Tyson’s disappearance, Michael was becoming much more suspicious of Drew. Brad hadn’t changed; he was still as affable as before. Brad was sympathetic to Drew’s plight. Michael, on the other hand, was training to be a doctor: it was in his nature to question everyone he met until he could establish facts.
The night that Tyson went missing still gave Drew nightmares. Drew had every intention of interrogating his father and had even carried a gun with him. But when he peered through his father’s windows, Drew saw another man sleeping on his dad’s couch. Drew couldn’t hear their conversation, but his father, Samuel, seemed annoyed with the stranger. The man was skinny, had a bushy long beard, and a sour expression.
Drew wanted to tell his father that his mother was dead. He wanted to shout about how she had been addicted to prescription medication. Drew wanted to blame his dad, and he wanted Samuel to accept the blame.
But instead, Drew looked through a window into a messy room and felt sick to his stomach.
The violence occurred in a blur. Drew’s father had pulled a large stack of cash out of a duffle bag. The bills were bundled up, and he had carelessly tossed them on a table.
At the same moment, the skinny man had glanced across to the window where Drew was crouched. Drew’s bright red hair must have been visible in the moonlight. The expression on the bearded man’s face became one of pure fear. The stranger moved with lightning speed as he retrieved a handgun from a coffee table that was piled high with clutter.
As Samuel turned around towards the bearded man, he must have seen his associate reaching for a weapon. In an instant, Samuel had drawn his own gun with an inaudible shout.
The skinny man turned his head, and his weapon followed. It was enough to spook Samuel, and one single shot had rung out. The skinny man recoiled backwards, and Drew quickly ducked away, terrified by the brutality before him.
Drew had witnessed a murder. He knew it immediately.
Drew had always suspected that his dad was a killer, but now he knew it to be true.
The crime had nothing to do with Drew or Tyson, who were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seemed like an accident.
Tyson had been waiting for Drew in his car at the front of the property. After Tyson had dropped Drew home, he had simply vanished. The police had no leads.
When officers asked about what happened to Tyson, Drew said as little as possible. He had not told the police about the murder, and the information he withheld was clawing at his soul. Drew felt no desire to protect his father. But Drew recognized that information was power, particularly in Long Harbor City. He also knew that telling his story to the wrong person could get him killed too.
So, when Michael asked for his opinion, Drew hesitated. Michael prompted him again.
“Why would you jump to the conclusion that Tyson was kidnapped?”
The question was a little hostile, and Drew felt uncomfortable. He answered gingerly. “Well . . . the police told us that Tyson had a neighbor who heard an altercation out in front of his building. But the witness didn’t see anything, and Tyson wasn’t the type to make enemies.”
“We never met him,” Michael admitted.
“Right,” Drew continued. “He was a sweet guy. I didn’t know him for very long, but when I last saw him, he seemed fine.” Drew’s mouth felt dry and he tried to swallow. “Tyson talked about going home to bed. But his apartment was locked when the police searched it. It doesn’t make sense, because his car was parked out in front of his building. So, my guess is that he never made it home.” Drew paused. The pieces of a puzzle were falling into place as he spoke. “There’s only one real explanation. Tyson must have been kidnapped.”
As he said it, Drew knew instinctively that Tyson’s disappearance hadn’t been a random occurrence. Despite the crime wave sweeping the city, there was one very likely suspect who happened to have something to hide. Drew felt sick whenever he thought about it. Tyson must have been abducted by his father, by the killer—Samuel Sanford.
Chapter 5
Courage
The television news anchors and newspaper journalists had reported of a man being dumped in the harbor with a single gunshot wound to his chest. The description of the body sounded like the skinny bearded man Drew had seen through the window.
Even though he knew that he was a material witness and that his testimony could send his father to jail, Drew couldn’t bring himself to trust the police—they had failed him too many times before.
Drew decided that there were two places to start looking for his friend, Tyson. The first was his father’s favorite pub. The second was Samuel’s house—the scene of a murder. Surprising his father
at home didn’t feel like a particularly smart move. So, Drew rationalized that the pub was a safer option. He called a taxi and glanced at his rucksack on the floor of his bedroom. This time he would leave his gun at home. This time he would finally face his father, man to man.
During his childhood, Drew had watched his parents argue over alcohol and pills. There had been a revolving door of colorful characters who had come in and out of their lives. Drew was encouraged to call lots of strangers Auntie or Uncle. By his teenage years, he had seen enough movies to know that these people were common criminals.
When he moved to the city, Drew had discovered his father’s alibi. Samuel had told everyone that he was employed as a laborer. But it was never like his father to conform. Most of Samuel’s real business was conducted at a pub or at a kitchen table. Drew grew up overhearing conversations about drugs, violence, sex work, and thugs. Now, years later, Drew had discovered that his father was also a murderer.
Drew’s past and his memories weighed heavily on his mind as he pulled up to The Hammer and Wrench Inn. He suspected that Samuel would be drinking inside. But Drew swallowed his fear. Holding his head high, he walked through the front doors.
He found his dad sitting with an associate in the beer garden, hunched over, holding a cigarette, staring at two pints of beer on the table in front of him.
“Dad,” was all Drew said, standing over the older man. His voice was shaky.
Samuel had grown a full face of stubble, but there was no mistaking his bright red hair. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face lined with more wrinkles than Drew remembered. To Drew, his dad simply looked old.
“Holy hell. Is that you, Drew? Smithy, I don’t believe it. This is my son,” Samuel said, turning to his companion and tapping his cigarette in an ashtray.
“You don’t say,” Smithy replied. Neither man stood or extended their hand. There were no hugs or fanfare. In fact, neither of the seated men seemed particularly interested in Drew’s arrival.
“It must be at least five years since I last laid eyes on you, boy. How’d you find me?”
“Can I have a word?” Drew said, slowly losing his confidence as the seconds ticked by. Just by standing in his dad’s presence, Drew felt like a child again.
“Sure, we can talk,” Samuel replied. “Could you kindly fuck off for a few minutes please, Smithy?”
“No problem. Pleasure to meet you,” Smithy said. He pushed back his chair and moved towards the doorway. Drew followed with his eyes and noticed that Smithy didn’t leave. His father’s silver-haired friend leaned in the doorframe, as slow rock music rolled into the courtyard from a jukebox.
“Well?” Samuel asked, looking up to his son.
“It has been five years, and all you can say is, well?” Drew spat out. He had thought a lot about what he would say when he eventually reunited with his dad. Years later, now that the moment had arrived, Drew’s mind was blank. All he felt was anger.
“Well, what do you want me to say?” Samuel asked.
“Mom’s dead,” Drew said, his heart breaking.
“Oh yeah?” Samuel raised his eyebrows with disdain.
“Yeah, those drugs you took with her—they finally killed her.” Drew found himself raising his voice in hatred. Other patrons of the pub slowly turned around from their conversations to observe the altercation.
Samuel laughed. “She pumped plenty of those drugs into herself, as I recall.”
Drew stood over his father and built up the courage to say what he felt. “But it was your fault, Dad. You got her hooked. You destroyed her life, and then you just left. You left us both. You left me with an addict, and . . .” Drew trailed off. Sadness swept over him.
Samuel had kept his eyes downcast, but he suddenly reared in anger, getting to his feet. “Well, what the fuck do you want me to say to that, sonny boy? That I’m sorry? Because I’m not. Life is fucked. Your mom was fucked. I’m still fucked. So, guess what Drew? You’re fucked too. Now please fuck off. I have nothing to say to you.”
Samuel’s rage was evident, but no one rushed to step in.
Drew stood motionless. His mouth hung open, and fury coursed through his veins. Part of him wanted to punch his father in the mouth to shut him up. But he had known what to expect when he walked into the bar. He knew his father was a bitter man, and that he ruined everything he touched. Drew wanted to rise above it.
Drew took a deep breath. “Dad, there’s more,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Oh yeah? Anything else you want to blame me for?” Samuel seemed to simmer down quickly, sitting and taking a gulp of his beer.
“Yeah, Dad. Don’t give me your bullshit excuses. I only came here because I need your help. I need you to tell me everything you know about the disappearance of Tyson Hutchinson.”
Samuel had a wicked glimmer in his eye. “Well, that will be a very short conversation,” he replied. “I don’t know a goddamn thing. But if I had to guess, I’d say he was probably dead. You know what this town is like.”
Drew let out a deep breath and wished that his father was dead too.
Chapter 6
Release
Tyson blinked a few times in the sunlight, and Victor passed him a pair of his sunglasses.
Tyson was standing on the street outside his apartment block, thinking about his old life. His car wasn’t where he left it. It had been stationed on the street outside his building. Tyson was more worried about seeing his neighbors, who might suddenly rush up to him with a series of questions concerning his recent whereabouts. Tyson just wanted to get inside.
“Are you sure you should be here with me?” Tyson asked Victor.
“Of course! I want to make sure you get home ok, like we discussed.” Victor’s reply felt genuine, but Tyson couldn’t shake the feeling that it contained an implicit threat. By bringing Victor into his home, Tyson would be including him in the next chapter of his life. It felt like Tyson didn’t have much choice in the matter.
So, the two men walked through the lobby together and caught the elevator to Tyson’s floor. They didn’t pass anyone on the way, and they found police tape covering the door to Tyson’s apartment. Victor pulled it down with a tug.
Once inside, Tyson felt like he had been robbed. Everything he owned was still meticulously in place. But Tyson felt a strange sensation, knowing that police officers must have pored over every detail of his belongings, trying to find a clue as to his sudden disappearance.
“So, the police have obviously been here. Victor, how am I going to explain any of this to them?” Tyson asked, and his voice sounded full of fear.
“Relax, Tyson. Take a deep breath. We have time. We can go over the details of the plan again. I’m not leaving. I’m here to support you.” Victor took Tyson’s hand and led him to his couch.
Tyson sat down in defeat. Victor walked into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. He returned to Tyson and stood over him. After passing him the glass, Victor slowly took Tyson’s chin in one hand, tilting his face up so that their eyes met. Victor leaned down and kissed him slowly and gently. Tyson pulled away and sighed.
His relationship with Victor was new and completely tangled up with trouble. One day, Tyson had been chained to a bed: a prisoner and scared for his life. The next day, Victor had arrived. He was sweet and kind. Victor made promise after promise, and soon he started taking his hand in his own as they talked. Tyson felt comfort in Victor’s affection. Before he knew it, Tyson felt that his whole world revolved around his captor.
When they kissed for the first time it had felt wrong, but Tyson wanted so badly to be free, and Victor seemed like he was the only way out.
Now, Tyson’s feelings were all muddled up. Would Victor be his savior or the death of him? He had no way of knowing.
“We’re starting something very good, you and I,” Victor said, almost reading the doubts that crossed Tyson’s face.
“I know that,” Tyson replied, somewhat guiltily. “But it feels like my only c
hoice right now is to burn my old life to the ground.”
“Well then, baby, that’s exactly what we should do.” Victor smiled, and Tyson stared into his eyes, willing himself to trust the man in front of him. Tyson wanted to believe that everything would work out for the best.
“So, you think I should call Florence?” Tyson eventually asked.
“Yes, that’s the smartest move. Tell your friend that you’re back at home. She will alert the authorities. She will tell all your friends too.”
“Shouldn’t I call my family?”
“We discussed this—they live so far away, they will be fine with a phone call. Besides, it will complicate things to start with them. Begin with Florence. Establish your story. Then move on to your family and your boss. The more you practice, the easier it will become for your new life to materialize.”
“And I just lie? Say that I have amnesia? Victor, that sounds crazy.”
“It will sound crazy and no one will believe you, at first. But if you stick to the story then you’ll be fine. You have to trust me.”
There was something in Victor’s tone that sounded almost impatient, but Tyson tried to move past it. “What if they send me to get tests for my memory? Won’t I need to lie to a doctor? They’ll know the truth straight away. I’m not a good liar. I don’t think I can do this.” Tyson felt like he was on the verge of collapse.
“You can do this, Tyson. I believe in you. Just listen to me and stick to the script.”
Victor laid both of his hands on the top of Tyson’s shoulders. “It will sound just like this . . . the last thing you remember is driving home. After that, you can’t remember anything. Maybe someone hit you on the head. It’s possible. But the next few days are a blur.”
Victor stared directly into Tyson’s eyes as he spoke. To Tyson, it felt like Victor was trying to hypnotize him.
“The only explanation is that someone must have rescued you and taken care of you, but you have no memory of what happened,” Victor continued. “Maybe you slipped into a coma—it’s impossible to know for sure. Then one day, you wake up, and you feel incredibly groggy. You feel sick and, when you look up, you find that you’re lying outside on a bench. Slowly, you realize that you’re down the street from your apartment in a small park. You still have your keys and your wallet, but your phone is missing. So, you make your way home and call your friend Florence.”
