by Anyta Sunday
No.
An empty wheelchair sat in an open stall, a camera bag hanging on the back—
My head pounded, palms sweated, stomach crunched at the terror that ripped through me. All I could think about was that threat. I saw The Raven thrown from the top of the Cathedral of Learning, tumbling, head over heels, screams lost to the rushing wind . . .
“Hunter?” I whispered, pivoting to a sharp arc as a breeze whistled again.
A splotch of blue wedged at the corner of the windowsill caught my eye, furthering the trepidation. Blue rose petals.
Quinn.
With trembling fingers, I called the police again and told them there was an assault in progress. “Hurry, 32nd floor of the Cathedral of Learning.”
“Police are on their way.”
“They’re outside the bathrooms.”
“Remain where you are . . .”
A grunting cry stung through the window gap. The phone dropped from my grip and clattered against the tile. I pushed on the foiled glass. Meeting resistance, I shoved my shoulder against it, wedging it open. I thought I’d made a fair amount of noise, but the direction of the wind and traffic and beeping horns below worked in my favor.
A dark, stone balcony stared at me, framed by an inky sky and a smattering of city lights.
“What are you going do about it, Raven?”
A judgment and a dare all at once.
Thwack!
A gurgled gasp, followed by a cry.
Sneaking out of the window, I tiptoed to the edge of the building. My hands and cheek pressed against cold, pocked concrete, and I peered around the edge of the cornered balcony.
I absorbed the scene like I had Freddy’s punch to my gut. It took all my effort not to fold in on myself and sink into a useless puddle.
Jack stood with a gun pointed toward the ground, his body turned away from me toward Hunter, who’d been dragged into the corner of the balcony and slumped there. Mitch crouched at his side, mumbling repeatedly how sorry he was but claiming he didn’t have a choice.
Jack’s been working with someone to gather information, lure out The Raven.
Everything about Mitch had been a lie? But he seemed genuine. Seemed like he really cared about Hunter—
Wait. He studied improvisational theater. Was he really that good of an actor? Was he gay at all? Had this whole thing been a set up from the moment we met?
Queasiness flared up my throat.
And I set that upon Hunter.
God, had that moment when he banged into me again at the café been part of this plan?
My weight sagged against the building as if I’d been pushed from behind, but it was Mitch’s betrayal that weighed me down. It was the blood dripping from the corner of Hunter’s mouth.
I thought of the moment in my office when Mitch casually held my stapler. I wanted to slam my fist down on it and puncture him, the same way he was doing to my friend.
Blinking back something hot and wet, I prayed he would be okay. I’d never prayed before, it didn’t seem like a practical thing to do, but right now . . . now I was beyond practical. It was as if I were a puppet and my master was tugging invisible strings—strings that made me want to throw up and cry and punch something.
At least Hunter seemed to be taking this calmly. His blue eyes clasped onto me for a second before he darted his gaze to the side.
I followed it to The Raven, standing in those tightly-fitting boots Garret had mentioned, cargo pants, leather gloves, and a navy jacket with a large peaked hood, angled toward the ground.
From here it was easy to see how she could have been mistaken for a guy.
As she lifted her head, I caught a glimpse of her shadowed face. Now I knew who it was, I could see it. Her. Shannon.
Quinn stood to the left, rubbing the back of his head like he’d been shoved hard against the side of the building and had knocked it badly. He braced an arm around Shannon, stepping on the blue rose bouquet choked of life at his feet.
Shannon urged forward, but Quinn wrapped his arms around her waist and held her back. He too was calm, but there was the undeniable glow of fear lighting his face a pale green.
“Don’t, Shan,” Quinn said softly. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Is this why you kept trying to prevent me from doing this?” The hood shifted, revealing Shannon’s cold blue eyes trained intently on Mitch. She shuddered, and her voice came out strained. “People like them and victims like Travis are the reason I wanted to be out there.”
“I’m sorry, but—” She stomped on Quinn’s foot and pulled at his thumbs, freeing herself, and lunged toward Jack.
He lifted his gun and pointed at the bird tattoo peeking through Hunter’s ripped shirt. “Stay back.”
“Let my brother go.”
“I’ll let him go,” Jack said. I glanced toward the window praying for the police to hurry up. “After I’ve ruined your life the way you ruined my brother’s.”
My breath shook. What could I do to help the situation? With only a pen, a notebook, and a cellphone, the answer was painful. Not much.
I took out the pen and notebook. At least by annotating the situation, I could give the police the best possible eyewitness account. I wrote faster than I ever had before, leaving out any details depicting Shannon as The Raven. Something I didn’t think about, but knew instinctively I had to do.
Quinn’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and then he spoke carefully, “Don’t do anything you’ll regret for the rest of your life, man.”
Jack swung the gun toward Quinn, his hand shaking, voice pitching. “He was there for me when no one else was. I owe it to him to exact justice.”
Shannon swore, “You son of a bitch. Why? Why do you attack men just because they love other men?”
Jack cocked the gun at the same time as his head. “My brother cared about that shit. I only care about who got my brother incarcerated. I figured the best way to find you was by following the trend.”
Quinn grabbed Shannon before she lunged, and he held her back against his chest once more. He whispered something in her ear. Perhaps something to cool her down. Quinn said firmly, “That’s your idea of justice? It’ll just get you thrown in prison, right alongside your brother.”
Jack let out a gurgled sound, as if his emotions were getting the better of him. He loved his brother, that was clear. “Maybe, but I’m going to make sure The Raven goes down with me.”
The safety unlatched, a distinctive click sounded in the still air, and that’s when I knew I had something else with me that could tip the scales.
Surprise.
I dropped my notebook, stole two steps and leaped on Jack’s back as his finger went trigger-happy. My momentum knocked him forward as the gun fired.
We hit the ground with a heavy thwump! I dug my pen into his weapon-arm with all my strength as he bucked underneath me, trying to chuck me off. Thanks to self-defense lessons, I knew how to throw him off his balance—
“You fuck!”
I locked my hands around his wrist as Quinn yelled. I tipped suddenly, shoulders hitting stone.
The gun clattered as it dropped from Jack’s hand, sliding toward Shannon’s feet.
Suddenly Quinn was there, wrestling with Jack and shouting at Shannon not to do something that would make her the bad guy.
Jack thrust against Quinn’s weight, angry eyes snapping to me. “You,” he spat.
“Me,” I said, still holding my pen tightly in my grip, my knuckles scraped from the stone. “Why did you attack me, Freddy?”
“Fuck you. You should have given up the party page.” Powwach! Jack managed to land a hook over Quinn’s ear. “But at least you led me to the cripple. He made catching The Raven easy.”
“Fucker,” Quinn swore, snatching Jack into a firm hold as Shannon stepped one of her shit-kickers on the gun. Her gaze was livid, as if static streamed from her. She embodied my definition of rage.
She caught my eye, and I shook my head, clumsily trying to
pull myself up. “Quinn’s right,” I said, with a cough. “You need to stop being The Raven before you become victim. None of us want you to lose your wings.”
She blinked, her gaze snapping to her brother who sat stranded in the corner.
Hunter grabbed Mitch’s shirt, drew him near and spat in his face. “I don’t ever want to see you around my friends or my sister again.”
He shoved him back, and Mitch crumpled. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to. I tried to say no.”
“But you didn’t,” Hunter said. “That’s all I need to know. Fuck off.”
“I just . . . wish I’d been there to save him the first time,” Shannon said, closing her eyes. She took a quivering breath and swept the gun far out of Jack’s reach. Jack still struggled under Quinn. “Looks like my brother really can handle himself though.”
“And the police are on their way,” I grunted, letting them all know it was soon over.
Hunter looked across at her, swiping away the blood on his lip. “Come here, sis.”
She came to his side, kneeling where Mitch had been. Mitch, who had disappeared.
I glanced at Quinn pressing his forearm against the back of Jack’s neck and hissing in his ear to keep his filthy mouth shut.
“You all right?” Quinn asked me, failing to control the panic in his voice.
I held up my pen as Shannon walked past carrying Hunter. “Really is mightier than the sword.”
The tall officer with the goatee, holding Jack back, gave us a cursory once-over, his gaze landing inquisitively on Shannon who’d passed her hooded jacket to Hunter.
Quinn stiffened next to me. I wanted to nudge the back of his hand in a gesture of comfort, but now was hardly the time or place. The officers were trying to get a grip on the situation. As soon as someone had mentioned the gun, the female officer sporting a clipped-back perm had dialed in for back up.
“That’s The Raven!” Jack screamed, trying to jerk away from the officer. “The one you want on countless cases of assault!”
“Raven?” I asked, pulling out my notebook with my descriptive account of the moments leading up to Jack firing his gun. “I have most of the details here.” I offered the page with my notes to Goatee Officer. “I’m a journalist; it’s my job to note the particulars. I didn’t see The Raven.” He glanced over it, and I pushed up my glasses. “Though that would have made a fantastic angle for my next party page piece for Scribe.”
“Liar. He’s a friendless fucking liar!”
The officer turned back to Jack, changing his grip on him. “Doesn’t look friendless to me.”
Quinn shifted his weight, pressing his arm lightly against mine. “He’s no liar. I didn’t see The Raven here, either.”
Hunter piped in, “I also didn’t see The Raven. Why, is there a bounty on him or something? I could’ve used the cash.”
Goatee Officer glanced back at Shannon, who was blinking hard.
She said, “I thought I wanted The Raven to come and save us when he”—she pointed to Jack—“held his gun at me, my brother, my best friend.” She tucked blue hair behind her ear, peeking toward Quinn, her other hand tight on Hunter’s chair. “But we managed without them, and now I think it’s better that the police are handling it.”
“Liars. All liars! I can prove it, I have pictures at home.”
No, he didn’t.
“Some of us have experienced quite the trauma this evening; I think a trip to UPMC is in order . . .”
Perm Officer was back with a grim smile. “No can do. We can send in the EMTs to treat you, but you’ll have to wait for the detectives so we can sort this all out.”
Sorting it all out took a couple more hours of being separated and questioned by the detectives, but by midnight we were free to go.
Outside, Quinn was still tenderly touching his head. “UPMC,” Shannon ordered.
Hunter agreed, insisting he was right as winter rain, so we took his van.
I didn’t even glance up at the Scribe offices across the road as I clambered into the van after Quinn.
The vehicle roared to life and Hunter drove us to the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center. “How’s your head?” I asked Quinn, the streetlights outside making a silhouette of his profile.
“Dizzy,” he admitted. “But I’ll be all right.”
“I remember the last time we were doing this,” I murmured, slipping my hand over the middle to his.
Quinn rested his head against the headrest, his pinkie playing with mine. A small smile cupped his mouth. “Yeah, you called me your angel.”
“I’d been going for angle, but turns out that was close enough.” I leaned forward and poked Hunter’s shoulder over the front seat. “I like that we’re friends, Hunter, but I want a relationship with Quinn.”
Quinn’s hand squeezed around mine, and he shifted sharply in his seat. “Liam?” he said under his breath.
“Ahhh,” Hunter said, peering through the rearview mirror at me. “Did I get hit on the head and not know about it? What do I have to do with you dating Quinn?”
Shannon snorted in the passenger seat. “Hunter just doesn’t get it sometimes.”
“Get what?” Hunter asked, swerving around a bend that had me toppling toward Quinn. “And be sensitive, the guy I was dating turned out to be friends with a homicidal maniac. I already know I lost a clue or two.”
Shannon groaned. “Hey, my date was the homicidal maniac.”
Quinn was undoing his seatbelt and shuffling into the middle, closer to me. Having had far too much experience with Hunter’s driving, I grabbed the middle belt and looped it over his waist for him to buckle in.
Shannon stared at her brother, shaking her head, fondness in her gaze. “Liam doesn’t want to lose you if things don’t work out with Quinn.”
“Not a problem,” Quinn said to the whole car, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll make sure things work out.”
I pushed up my glasses and met his gaze. “Statistically—”
Quinn’s mouth covered mine. “No, don’t. And look, even if things don’t work out—which they will—I’d never pressure my friends to ditch you. Besides that, if I tried, Hunter would tell me to go take a walk off a plank.”
“Into shark-infested waters,” Hunter agreed.
Quinn grinned, his cheek dimpling the way I liked so much. “And rightly so.”
Our conversation short-circuited as the van came to an abrupt stop outside UPMC emergency entrance. “Out,” Hunter said. “I’ll meet you in there soon.”
Things moved smoothly inside, just like they had the last time we’d been there, and soon Doctor Carter was finishing up Quinn’s assessment. “Up to you,” she said, scribbling something onto her clipboard of paper. “You can be admitted overnight for observation, or I can sign the release forms on the condition one of your friends here checks in on you regularly.
“I’ll do it,” I said to the smiling Doctor Carter, who had made it clear she recognized us from our previous visit. “I want him to come home with me.”
In front of a wall of superhero-doctor pictures, Quinn stood out the brightest and the best. He didn’t have a cape on, and he had a slight concussion, but nevertheless he looked about ready to swoop me into his arms and fly me home.
“Yeah,” he said, quietly, “sign those release forms.”
“Quinn? Wake up.”
He stirred. “Huh?” Blinking, he pushed up onto his elbows and drowsily glanced at me. The glass of water I held reflected the small bedside light, refracting golden shards onto the bedspread, almost like a small star in an otherwise dark room.
“Just checking you’re well. Drink some water.”
He took the glass and sipped, sending slits of light to the ceiling. “Thanks.”
I plucked the empty glass from his grip and set it on the side table next to his frayed leather wallet and keys, angled so the light played through it more.
Face lined with tired shadows, Quinn smiled warmly and patted t
he bed for me to hop in.
I rounded the side, peeled back the sheets, and slithered in. It was cool against my bare skin and for a moment I considered replacing my comma-cat T-shirt with something warmer. Instead, I scuttled closer to Quinn, who had pushed himself up and was resting against the headboard.
It was warmer with our arms jammed together. In fact, Quinn’s whole man-cave was more comfortable than I’d ever have believed. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, although his clothes lay in puddles on the floor, I knew he washed regularly. And I’d seen him vacuum. He actually lifted the clothing to clean underneath it.
I rested my head back on the wooden headboard, cocked my head, and studied him.
“Quite the night,” he said. “And I don’t know if it was the worst or the best.”
“Judging by the boil on the side of your head, I’d go with the former.” I sucked in my bottom lip as I replayed the evening. “So how did it happen?”
Quinn shook his head. “My darlin’ Shannon.” A sigh. “She called me and said her date—Jack—was a no show. At some point after that, Mitch comes up to her saying some guy swore at him that he’s a ‘fag’ in the bathrooms. That sent Shannon into Raven mode. She always goes to a party prepared. She silently followed Mitch for his protection. Only, he was bait. He led her right to the male bathrooms, where Jack had dragged Hunter out of his chair and onto the balcony.”
“At what point did you show up?”
“As she was ducking into the male bathrooms. I’ve been following her for years, backing her up and calling the police when she needs it. I was angry this time. I banged the door in and told her to stop. I told her like I’ve been trying to for a long time, that this was going to get her in trouble. She was on the edge of backing down until we turned and saw Hunter’s chair sitting there, empty. Mocking us.” He sighed. “And you know the rest.”
“I wonder why Mitch did it?”
“Blackmail would be my guess. He kept apologizing—it sounded like Jack had something on him. Though he kept repeating that he was sorry. That it hadn’t started out this way. Something about Jack threatening him at Halloween.”
