JOHN
They got Nick downstairs and he was brewing coffee by the time the doorbell started ringing. John turned away various and assorted NYPD officers until he found two people he was willing to let into his house and within ten yards of Nick.
One was an NYPD detective, a petite woman in her forties with short red hair and a sharp, hard face softened by a perceptive and friendly expression. The other was Gary Wills from the US Marshals. Wills had not only been kind to Nick, he’d showed up at the hospital to check on him. None the less, a stern warning was in order.
John stood blocking the door with a wide stance, with Ochre at his side reserving the right to wag or not wag his stub tail. The boxer loved people, but seemed to have a sixth sense that he was his FBI agent’s home backup as well.
“This is Nick Aster, my partner and my friend," said John. "Last time the anklet failed, he was thrown in Riker’s, stabbed three times and beaten so badly the doctor said it looked like he’d been hit by a car. He’s drugged and recovering from emergency surgery.”
“Ouch,” said the detective, grimacing. She extended her hand. “Megan Landry. I’ll leave once I know Aster’s secured, I don’t want any part of this clusterfuck.”
John shook hands. “John Langley, FBI.”
“Fuck,” muttered Detective Landry. “I’m at enemy headquarters.”
“You be kind,” John warned them again, stepping back from the door and waving them in. “This is a crime victim facing exactly what got him hurt last time.”
Gary Wills looked annoyed, sleepy, and a little hurt. “I dragged myself out of bed to handle this personally when I saw his name. I’m still having nightmares about the scene in Rikers, so don’t treat me like I’m here to have at 'im with a rubber hose.”
John put his hands in his pockets and looked down. “Sorry. You two like some coffee?”
Landry looked uneasy. “As long as it’s got a minimal arsenic content, and maybe some creamer.”
“How do you feel about strychnine?” asked John.
“You two scare me,” said Wills with an affable smile. Ochre nosed his broad head into the Marshal's hand for a pat. “I’d love coffee.”
“What’s happening to my anklets?” asked Nick. “It’s not me, I swear.”
“Tracking system took a giant shit,” said Wills. He joined Nick on the couch and set a black plastic case on the floor. “We lost connection to about six hundred people across the country. Last time, the techs told us it was a glitch in the satellite relay, an’ they supposedly fixed it.”
“Good job,” said Nick dryly.
“Yeahhhhhhh. I don’t think I got the same definition of fixed as they do,” said Wills.
John brought them coffee, and Wills took swapped out Nick’s dead anklet with a new one from the case. It blinked on with a reassuring green light.
Thirty seconds later, it went black. Wills shoulders slumped, and he gave John and Nick a hopeless look. Nick bit his lower lip and looked away.
“I’m so sorry,” said the US Marshal. “This is not your fault, but we do have to take you into custody. If you’re not on the anklet, you gotta be locked up.”
“Not gonna happen,” said John flatly. “He can stay here at the house, I’ll sleep outside the bedroom door.”
“It’s the law, Agent Langley.” Wills’ voice was gentle, and he was looking at Nick with sincere concern.
Detective Landry was almost wide-eyed with alarm. “Not sure either of you get how pissed-off my department is at Aster and the FBI. He goes into custody - you didn’t hear me say this, but it damn well better be federal,” she warned.
John contained a shiver. Landry struck him as a decent person, and her acute discomfort at even being in his house was a warning of how hostile the NYPD was right now.
“That bad?” asked John.
“I was only half kidding about the arsenic,” said Detective Landry, swirling the coffee in her cup and giving it a suspicious sniff.
“I can pull his anklet any time,” said John. “I took it off when he went into the ER and didn’t put it back on until he was discharged. That’s my discretion as his handler.”
“It is,” admitted Wills. “But this isn’t a matter of your discretion, it’s a system malfunction and under the law he’s returned to secure custody if we can’t provide compliance monitoring.”
“Sounds fair,” said John sarcastically.
Wills gave Nick a sincerely sympathetic glance. “He’s not entitled to fair. He’s an inmate on provisional work release, being on the outside is a privilege. One we’re gonna have to revoke temporarily.”
John’s stomach sank. He’d prefer an over-reaching asshole he could throw out of the house. Wills was professional, intelligent, and on the right side of the law.
John tried another tactic. “When we send him undercover, we have him wear a watch that transmits a live feed and GPS location. I’ve already called in for one to take over for the anklet for now.”
Wills frowned. “The anklet sounds an alarm if its taken off. Does the watch?”
“No.”
“So how do you keep him from ditching the watch and slipping away?”
“We trust him,” said John bluntly. “He values that trust, and he values staying out of prison. We also keep one hell of a tight leash on him.”
The NYPD detective cleared her throat. “This could sound a little harsh, but when someone is in custody at a hospital, we use a cuff or leg iron to secure them to the bed and put a guard at the door. We could do that here. It’s not necessarily unpleasant.”
John winced. “First, Nick’s an escape artist -”
“I am,” said Nick proudly. “I’d be loose before I even went to sleep.”
“-and second, he has nasty bruises, cuts, and nerve damage from the last time he was restrained. His doctor flat-out ordered us not to cuff him.”
“Oh, everyone claims-”
“He’s not claiming,” John snapped, cutting her off. “I peeled those things off my best friend’s raw flesh myself while he tried not to scream. Aster’s tough as all hell. This is real.”
“I’m so sorry.” Landry sounded genuinely rebuked, and looked at Nick with intense apology in her expression.
“Listen,” said John. “We need to be human beings. Trust me, I care about this man enough to make sure he doesn’t escape. Use the watch. I’ll sleep outside the door.”
“Guys,” Nick interjected. “I’ve been beat up so bad it hurts to move my eyelids. It took two people to get me downstairs. I’m on narcotics and antibiotics and barbiturates and muscle relaxants, and I can barely stay awake. My handler is the person I trust most in this world, and he’s offering me solace and protection here. If I were out there right now, my one goal would be to make it to this house.”
The Marshal sighed, tightened his lips, and placed a compassionate hand on Nick’s arm. “Aster, I feel for you. Really. I’m not just saying that. And on behalf of every decent and caring person in law enforcement, I apologize for what was done to you in Riker’s. That this FBI agent cares so much about you and trusts you as his partner says amazing things, and I don’t think you’re a bad guy.”
Nick sighed, and gave him a soft look of understanding and even affection. “But.”
“You broke out of maximum-security prison. Then you made front-page headlines escaping custody yet again. By your own admission, you’re an escape artist. As someone whose job it is to secure federal prisoners, I can’t let you be unmonitored. That means locking you up. I’m sorry, really, but tonight you’re going to have to lie in the bed you made for yourself. We’ll all bend over backwards to make this a comfortable and safe thing for you.”
Nick closed his eyes. “I understand.”
John knelt down beside Wills, who still had his hand on Nick’s arm. John placed his own hand on top of it.
“I understand too,” said John, keeping his voice and body language as kind as his. “But I can’t let you take him. I won’t. I
will do anything you ask including staying up all night and watching him sleep. But Nick is not going to jail tonight.”
“John - it’s okay,” said Nick. He was struggling to keep his eyes open and his head upright. “As long as you don’t put me back in Rikers, I’ll be fine.”
“We won’t,” said the Marshal. “This will be done with compassion, I promise.”
“No,” said John. “Nick Aster’s in my custody, which makes his well-being my responsibility. Stress aside, it’d put him in a ton of pain just being moved. He’s trying to cooperate with us with a hell of a lot of courage. But he can’t defend himself legally, mentally, or physically right now, so it’s my duty to protect him.”
The doorbell rang again, and Mari let in a young FBI agent holding a box. “Agent Langley asked for a GPS-enabled recording transmitter watch?”
John took it from him. “I did. You set up to monitor?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The agent left, and John handed Nick the watch. He had a moment’s anxiety about whether it would fit over the bandage on Nick’s wrist, but Nick slipped it on easily.
John turned back to Gary Wills. “This man walked out the front door of a maximum security prison. But he stays with me on an anklet scissors can cut. Believe me, I can keep him secured, and it won’t take restraints.”
“What’ll it take?” asked Landry, frowning.
“Looking my friend in the eye and saying I’m counting on ‘im,” said John.
Wills sighed, and looked back and forth between John and Nick with growing affection and respect.
“Let me call my supervisor,” said Wills. “Sit here with Aster, it’s going to take a while to get in touch with him at home.”
“Okay,” said John.
Detective Landry finished her coffee and stood. “Not that I haven’t enjoyed my time behind enemy lines, but I don’t think I’m needed here.”
She hesitated, then faced Nick and really looked at him for the first time. “I’m sorry. Nobody deserves what you went through.”
Nick looked touched. “Thank you. You have a good night, Megan.”
Landry’s reserved expression crumbled, and John bit back a grin. Nick had felled another one.
Nick’s head kept sagging, he was trying so hard to stay awake. “Lean on me if you want,’ said John. He wanted to put his arm around Nick’s shoulders and just hold him, but he didn’t want to strain Nick’s already battered pride around strangers.
Nick relaxed against John’s side, and John did the next best thing by propping his arm across the back of the couch and giving Nick a brief pat on the shoulder.
“They aren’t going to approve it,” said Nick. He sounded sober, but calm. “It’s okay. Sing Sing isn’t warm and fuzzy, but I’ll be fine in there.”
He gave John a sideways glance. “Can - you take me in, though?” He looked and sounded calm, but a tiny tremor started in his muscles when he said that.
“No,” said John. “Already told you that’s not happening. Worst case, we both pack a bag and spend the night camping in the FBI holding area. I’m just not suggesting that because they’ll take it, and we all want to stay home if we can.”
Nick gave him a skeptical look.
“Hey. You are not going to prison tonight. I promise.”
Nick closed his eyes and heaved a sigh of contentment. A minute later, they opened again. “Thanks for being - such good friend.”
John gave in and hugged him tight against his side, and rubbed his shoulder. After what he'd been through, being caught cuddling with an FBI agent probably didn't rank high on the chart of humiliating things. “I’m sorry you’ve - experienced so many awful things that were out of your control.”
“I’m not ‘zactly unique in that,” Nick pointed out. “Is unique to have - wolds - worlds awesimist FBI agent - ”
By the time the Marshal came back, Nick was sound asleep against John’s side, and John had his arm tucked protectively around his shoulders. Wills entered looking grim and determined, but his face filled with compassion when he saw them. He closed his eyes, then after a moment threw his hands up in the air in defeat.
“All right. Fine,” said Wills. “I can’t reach my supervisor, and I’m not very well gonna slap cuffs on you both and drag you out of here. I give up. Have a good night, and don’t let him out of your sight.”
John’s muscles unwound in relief. “Thank you.”
“Aster.”
Nick forced his eyes open.
“I’m putting my career on the line for you here,” said Wills.
“I won’t betray that,” said Nick. “I promise.” The Marshal nodded once and headed for the door.
“Gary.”
Wills turned back to face Nick.
“Thanks.” Nick’s voice was soft and his expression sincere. “I appreciate kindness from law enforcement very much right now.”
JOHN
Nick tensed when Mari walked in with a blanket, but raised his head with a smile when he opened his eyes and realized it was her.
John nudged him and spoke quietly. “Nick, meet the person I trust with my soul. This is the person I go to when I need refuge from the world.”
Mari gave John a look of pure love, then looked just as gently at Nick, draping the blanket over him and tucking it around his shoulders. She plainly recognized, as John had, that Nick was too weak at the moment to make it back upstairs.
“May I sit down next to you?” she asked him.
Nick nodded, and she sat down close to Nick’s side. Watching both Nick and John closely for signs of discomfort, she rubbed his shoulder, and when he relaxed, started gently stroking the back of his head and neck. A few minutes later, she was snuggled up against Nick’s side, her head leaning against John’s arm.
On impulse and instinct, John unbuckled the band of the watch and slipped it off Nick’s wrist. Tonight, you’re not a prisoner. You’re family. Nick heaved a deep sigh and went as limp as a living person could, falling asleep between two people who cared about him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A Lousy Sadist
JOHN
Nick wasn’t biting on even the most fascinating cases John dangled in front of him like carrots, hoping for a spark of life. Drugs, pain, trauma....John knew all the reasons that of course, Nick wouldn’t be himself.
But this was just - awful. Nick wasn’t joking. Nick, whose coping mechanism was humor. He wasn’t talking, beyond impeccably polite “please,” and “thank you”s. His eyes were dull and lacking in expression. Even when awake, he lay motionless and silent in bed.
NICK
Nick tried to distract himself from the fear. Fear was a thing he rarely felt, even when he was genuinely in danger. It was part of the whole brain-damaged sociopath thing, he supposed.
But when he did fear, it wasn’t one situation but of all of them. Of the world, of humanity.
His most effective antidote had always been thinking of the overall positive trends in human civilization, and recalling the good people and kindness and love he’d encountered in his life. Remembering that the horror stories were often exactly that, stories, and what he actually encountered tended to be rather delightful.
It usually worked.
But the rare times it didn’t were misery.
He listened to John’s soft voice, and tried to think of Theo and Alice and John and Mari and Kelly and Wash and even cranky Daniel Curry, and the goodness in them.
When he thought about prison, he tried to remember dear friends among his fellow inmates, camaraderie and humor. He tried to remember honest and caring COs, and their sincere kindness to him.
The sheer cruelty all around him made him sick. He’d watched his own family disintegrate. He’d seen a man shot dead in front of him for thinking he might have left a passport behind. In prison, he learned to listen unflinching to the boasts of his fellow inmates about the horrible things they’d done to people, and could only hope despe
rately that most of it was fantasy.
He’d been the target of violent sadists, and heard fellow inmates screaming and crying, going insane in a cell with nobody to care. He’d watched one of the most decent guards in the place get hit in the face with shit and semen, and found him crying in a hallway later that day.
All he had to do was open a paper or turn on the TV or get arrested to see it everywhere him. He was scared. Just dreadfully scared to exist.
Broken Blue Lines: Love. Hate. Criminal Justice.: An FBI Crime Drama / LGBT+ Love Story Page 11
