by Pandora Pine
Ronan nodded, thoughtfully chewing a mouthful of noodles. “What if the child had been sexually abused or God forbid, raped? Would that make him more likely to bottle up and not want to speak about what happened to him?”
Tennyson’s spoon clanked against his bowl. “I never gave that possibility a thought and it isn’t a vibe I got from Michael. Do you really think that’s possible?”
“Yeah, I do. There was an active child rapist who went dark after Michael was taken.”
“What do you mean he went dark?” Tennyson shivered. He wrapped his arms around himself.
“I’d need to do a bit more research, but the last reported case was sometime in October of 2010. The reason I remember it so clearly is because Josh and I got married on the first weekend of November that year. I was worried that if there was another rape that some of our guests would have to leave the reception early… God, what I dick I was back then, thinking my wedding was more important that some child being brutalized.”
“You’re not that man anymore, Ronan. I think that who you were as a person back then had a lot more to do with Josh than it did with who you actually are inside.”
Ronan knew this part of the conversation was coming. He dreaded hearing Tennyson’s take on his ex-husband. “What do you mean?”
“Did you ever have a friend in your life who was super bubbly and being with them made you act the same way?”
“No, I’ve never had a super bubbly friend before, Tennyson. What’s that like?” Ronan burst out laughing.
Tennyson rolled his eyes. “God, you’re an infant sometimes. You know what I mean, how you can be in a better mood when the people around you are in good moods.”
“Or be in a shit mood if the people around you are constantly bitching?”
Ten nodded. “Exactly. Josh has an influential personality like that, but on a much darker level. I’m not sure how to explain him to you.”
Ronan sat back into the booth. He tried to relax and given Ten all the time he needed to put his thoughts in order. It gave him a few minutes to do the same thing. It hadn’t occurred to him before now that the Michael Frye case could be associated with that string of child rape cases. The only way they’d ever know for sure was to find his body and perform an autopsy, although how much physical evidence would be left to examine after seven years was debatable.
The rapist had never left DNA on any of his young male victims. If memory served, the attacks had all happened at night and with boys much older than Michael. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for child rapists to be predators of opportunity when it came to selecting victims. Preschool aged boys could have been the prey of his choice, but kids that age weren’t out riding their bikes after dark like pre-teen and teenage boys were.
“I guess the best way to describe Josh is to call him an emotion sponge,” Tennyson said, bringing Ronan back to the present.
Ronan snorted. “That one you’re gonna have to explain. In my head all I can see is Josh in a giant yellow sponge costume.”
“Remember how I told you spirits glommed onto you because of your light?”
“Yeah, I remember.” It still freaked Ronan out to know that his work had literally followed him home.
“Well, Josh has the opposite problem. Spirits and energies glom onto him because there is darkness inside of him.”
“What, like he’s possessed by a demon or something?”
“I don’t know. All I could see was the jealousy. Maybe it’s masking something deeper. All I could tell you was that being around him made me very uneasy. I sensed a duality to him. I guess the best way to describe it is like Jekyll and Hyde.”
That sounded a lot like the Josh he knew. “One minute we’d be having a great time together and the next minute it was like a switch flipped and he’d be angry at me for something stupid.”
“He had a very off-putting manner about him. I can’t imagine you had a lot of peace in your marriage. Not that I’m trying to play Dr. Phil here…” Tennyson trailed off.
The psychic might not be trying to play armchair psychologist, but he was doing a damn good job. Ronan shrugged to show Tennyson he’d hit close to the mark.
“That kind of thing can transfer to a partner over time.”
“And while we were together you think his manner rubbed off on me?”
Tennyson nodded. “That’s why I didn’t want you touching him earlier. I didn’t want more of it rubbing off on you now, especially since you’d been recently cleansed.”
“Gee, Ten, and here I was thinking you were a little jealous.” Ronan winked at him.
“The day I think that little bastard is any threat to what we…” Tennyson trailed off looking shocked at what he’d almost revealed.
“Threat to what?” Ronan waggled his eyebrows.
“God, you’re an asshole.” Ten laughed.
Ronan had been about to respond when his phone rang. “Hold that thought. O’Mara.” It was the captain letting him know the equipment he ordered would be in place and ready to roll in half an hour.
It was a shame they’d have to save this part of the conversation until later. The good news was that when they were done for the night, Tennyson was coming home with him, but for now, it was time to get to work.
20
Tennyson
The car ride over to the Betty’s Candy Apartment complex was a silent one. Tennyson’s belly was full and his mind was strangely empty. By the end of the night, they were either going to know where Michael Frye had been for the last seven years or they’d be back at square one.
Thankfully, there were no media vans at the site when they arrived. There were some pieces of heavy equipment on scene, as well as jacked up looking guys who were probably making double time for being called out near 10pm on a frigid January night.
While Ronan spoke to his captain and the man who’d be in charge of operating the ground-penetrating radar, Tennyson spoke to God. He mumbled a quick prayer that they’d find Michael’s remains tonight and be able to bring some measure of comfort to the boy’s still grieving parents.
Ronan suddenly appeared beside him. “Where do you think we should start, Tennyson?”
He didn’t have a clue where to begin. The area they were standing in was at least an acre in size. Most of it was the playground and the greenhouse while the rest of the space was green with park benches laid out for people to relax and soak up the sun when temperatures weren’t hovering at twenty degrees below zero, as they were tonight. “My spirit guides aren’t speaking up, but my gut tells me under the concrete slab of the greenhouse.”
“I was thinking along the same lines. Whoever killed him would know the concrete slab would be a permanent structure.” Ronan turned to walk away, but stopped and came back to Tennyson. “Are you going to be okay if we find him tonight?”
Tennyson had a feeling he’d never be okay again, but he couldn’t tell Ronan that. “It will be hard, but I’ll be fine. Plus I’ve got you. We’ll take care of each other.”
Ronan set a gloved hand against the side of Ten’s face before he hurried back over to Captain Fitzgibbon.
The frigid January wind made Tennyson want to run back to Ronan’s car and run the heater at full blast, but he wouldn’t do that, not until every inch of this area had been searched. Huddling deeper into his L.L. Bean parka, he couldn’t help thinking that Michael could have been here for seven winters, while the snow piled up and drifted, and through seven springs while the snow melted and the first tender shoots of grass popped through the dirt, through seven summers when the sun was hot enough to make asphalt runny, and through seven falls when the leaves turned color and fell from the trees. Children played in this park and plants grew and died in the greenhouse and all the while, Michael Frye might have been right here, waiting to be discovered.
“They’re starting,” Ronan said, suddenly standing next to Tennyson again.
“What do we do now?” Ten looked up at the detective. He was surprised to see Rona
n’s blue eyes were a little glassy in the low light.
“We look stoic and we wait. It’s all we can do. We followed the clues and this is where they led us.”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t look very stoic.”
Ronan huffed a rough laugh, the steam from his breath floated up into the dark night sky. “I don’t feel very stoic, Ten. Either outcome we get tonight is going to be bad.”
Tennyson had been thinking the same thing himself.
“Christ! There you two are!” Brett McCabe yelled. “I’ve been looking for you for half an hour. We need to shoot some interview footage about what’s going on tonight.”
“You realize we could possibly discover the remains of a missing five-year-old boy tonight, right? This isn’t must see TV, Brett. This is someone’s little boy. Film all of this if you have to, but be respectful. Don’t ask me to give you some dumb ass interview when my heart feels like it’s broken into a million pieces. At the end of all of this either we’re going to have to tell parents that we’ve found the remains of their missing child or we’re going to have to tell them we’ve got no other leads. Excuse me.” Ronan hurried past the television producer.
“Christ, Timmy. Tell me you got that on camera?” Brett called out.
“Got it, boss!” Timmy called back triumphantly, shooting his boss the thumbs up.
Tennyson shook his head. Ronan would have a kitten if he knew his most vulnerable moment had just been caught on tape. As for himself, he just didn’t have it in him to deliver wise words or clichéd platitudes. He hurried off after Ronan.
Two hours into the operation the radar operator found something underneath the concrete slab in the spacious greenhouse. Ronan motioned him over to stare at the screen alongside him and Captain Fitzgibbon. The picture on the screen was grainy, but there was no doubt in Tennyson’s mind what he was looking at. He glanced around at Ronan and the captain and could tell they saw the same thing on the screen that he did. The search for Michael Frye was over.
21
Ronan
Ronan didn’t think it was possible to be this cold and still be alive. His beating heart and puffs of visible breath attested to the fact that he was still among the living. It was such a short ride back from the candy factory apartments to his own apartment that the heater in the Mustang didn’t have enough time to blow hot before he and Tennyson pulled up in front of his building.
The sky was just beginning to turn pink as he got out of the driver’s side of the car and opened the passenger door for Tennyson. On any other day but this one, he would have pointed out what a gorgeous sunrise they were about to witness.
Hell, on any other day but this one, he would have driven them out to Castle Island in South Boston to watch the sun come up over Boston Harbor, with a couple of hot chocolates and a box of munchkins from Dunkin Donuts.
All he wanted right now was a hot shower to warm his frozen limbs and to close his eyes against the horror he spent the night witnessing.
It took three tries and some help from Tennyson to get his numb fingers to turn the key in the lock of his apartment door. Ronan went right to the thermostat, which he usually kept at a firm 63°F, and jacked it up to 70°F.
He was about to stalk off to the shower when he glanced over at Tennyson. The man looked lost. Tennyson was standing in the middle of the kitchen staring down at his boots. He hadn’t made a move to take off his hat or gloves. He was just frozen.
Ronan walked back to him. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”
Tennyson startled at the sound of Ronan’s voice. His dark eyes rose up from the floor to meet the detective’s. They were filled with unshed tears and very clearly telegraphed the message that nothing was going to be okay ever again.
“Come on, let’s get you undressed.” Ronan gently took off Tennyson’s hat, coat and gloves, setting them on the dining room table. Next, he went for the psychic’s cable knit sweater, lifting it over his head, sending a crackle of static through his curly hair. Under any other circumstance, he would have cracked a joke at the way Ten’s hair was sticking up.
With unsteady hands, Ronan unbuttoned the white dress shirt Ten had insisted on wearing tonight and peeled it off of his cold shoulders. Ten shivered. “You’ll be warm soon, I promise.” Ronan wanted to wrap the smaller man in a hug, but feared once he started, he wouldn’t want to let him go. “Come sit and we’ll get those boots off.”
Tennyson sat down at the dining room table and let Ronan take off his boots and socks. He offered the cop a mild smile. “Thanks. I can manage the rest.”
Thank Christ… If Ronan’s hands were shaking now, he couldn’t imagine what would happen if he had to take down Tennyson’s pants and briefs too. He stripped himself down to his boxer briefs and held out a hand to Tennyson when he was in his underwear as well. They were both freezing, there was no reason they couldn’t shower together.
Tennyson took his hand and let himself be led to the bathroom. As much as this was a shit apartment, at least the hot water was included with the price of his rent. Ronan was grateful for that tonight. He turned the water on warm, knowing that if he turned it on too hot, he was going to burn their cold-sensitive skin.
“In you go.” Ronan pointed to the shower.
“Are you sure?” Tennyson asked softly.
Ronan nodded. He turned around so Tennyson could finish stripping in private. God only knew why. He was going to be joining his houseguest in a few seconds. He’d be getting an eyeful then. If he chose to look.
Who the hell was he kidding? As messed up as he was over seeing the remains of Michael Frye being removed from the frozen ground, he was still interested in the naked, wet man in his shower. Shucking his red boxer briefs to the floor, Ronan climbed into the shower behind Tennyson.
Knowing there were still boundaries between them, Ronan wrapped himself around Tennyson from behind. He felt the smaller man melt back against him as Ronan slipped his arms more tightly around Ten’s middle. “God, you’re a human ice cube.”
“So are you,” Tennyson mumbled.
“I’ve never been so cold in my entire life.” Ronan turned the shower dial up a bit more. “My heart even feels ice-cold.”
“That’s your soul.” Tennyson twisted in Ronan’s arms. His dark eyes were filled with sorrow and something else Ronan couldn’t quite identify.
“I’ve seen a lot of bad shit in my twelve years with the Boston Police Department, but that was the worst…” Ronan trailed off, knowing he would start to cry if he had to elaborate further.
“If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget the jackhammers. The way they rattled my entire body and the way they went stone silent when the operators found Michael.” Ten shook his head before burying his face in Ronan’s chest.
Ronan wrapped his arms tightly around Tennyson’s back. He’d known this could be a bad night for both of them, but had no idea just how bad. Once the Suffolk County Medical Examiner concluded that the remains he saw on the grainy x-ray were human, Captain Fitzgibbon made the call that the jackhammers should be brought in to free the body from its concrete coffin.
As cold as the night had been, the sound of the jackhammers had brought the curious neighbors outside to see what was going on. The neighbors who weren’t interested in going outside themselves, had done the next best thing, they’d called the local media.
The BPD had gone dark on their police band radio frequencies about what was going on at the candy factory apartment complex. Not one word about this operation had been broadcast on official channels so that no intrepid newsroom director would get wind of it and dispatch a news crew.
Once neighbors started posting videos to Facebook Live, the news crews were broadcasting live on the scene within minutes of the start of the jackhammering it seemed.
It was at that point Tennyson had grabbed him to ask about the Fryes. Did they want Michael’s family to see this on television or should they call Ross and Jackie now? Ronan hadn’t liked th
e idea of citizens and the media forcing their hand, but he’d gone to Captain Fitzgibbon with Tennyson’s thoughts.
The captain had agreed with Tennyson’s assessment and had made the call himself. It turned out that the boy’s parents had already seen the breaking news story on Boston’s ABC affiliate and were already in the car driving to Dorchester.
Everything had gone to hell after that.
Tennyson twining his arms around Ronan’s neck brought him back to the present.
“You okay?” Ronan half-whispered.
Tennyson shook his head and looked up at Ronan. “Will I ever be able to un-see what I saw tonight?”
The easy and most truthful answer to Tennyson’s question was no. Six months ago, Ronan would have told him that Maker’s Mark and Jack Daniels helped with that, but that wasn’t true either. The booze just made the images blurry, like when you popped out your contact lenses. “No, sweetheart, you’ll never be able to un-see the garbage bag.”
Tennyson nodded. “For a minute there, I was almost expecting to hear a director shouting ‘CUT!’ like we were on a movie set. Like this wasn’t real.”
“I felt the same way the first time I went to a murder scene, only the body was fresh.” Ronan took a deep breath. He could see the living room of the house like it was yesterday. The blood splattered walls, the bloody knife lying on the blue area rug and Mr. Dunlop lying in a pool of his own blood leaking from a large hole where his cheating, no good, heart used to beat.
“How do you get over it?” Tennyson’s voice sounded so sweet, so innocent.
Ronan had no idea. He never got over any of the scenes he’d been to. “The only thing we can do now is find out who did this to Michael and make them pay. That’s the only thing that makes the memories easier to bear.”
“I just want to crawl into bed and sleep. Maybe then I won’t be able to hear the sound of Jackie Frye screaming in my mind anymore.” Tennyson shivered.
Ronan hoped sleep would cure both from them of having to hear that anguished sound. Ross and Jackie had gotten to the dig site just as the jackhammers had finished getting through the concrete slab. They’d cleared a space that was five feet long by ten feet wide. All of the concrete pieces had been hauled away and the shovels had been brought in to dig down to where the remains had been buried.
