by Pandora Pine
“Can you believe all these people are here for me?” Michael Frye said from the empty space beside Tennyson.
“I was wondering if I’d see you today.” Ten grinned at the boy’s spirit.
“See who?” Ronan asked, sounding confused.
“Michael is here. He’s sitting next to me.”
“Hi, Michael,” Ronan leaned across Tennyson to whisper.
“Why is he here?” Michael folded his arms over his chest.
“Ronan worked so hard to help find you and bring you home to your Mommy and Daddy. He wanted to be here today to say goodbye.” Tennyson had never had to ease relations between an adult and a child’s spirit before. He wasn’t exactly sure how much more he should explain.
Michael didn’t respond to that. He stared ahead at his parents. “What happens now?”
That was a loaded question if ever Tennyson heard one. It all depended on which “now” the boy’s spirit was talking about. What happened now in the physical world or what happened now in the spirit world? “Ronan and I are only half done with our mission, Michael.”
“Your mission? Who are you, the Avengers?” The boy giggled.
Tennyson wanted to laugh, but knew no one sitting near them would find that appropriate. “The first thing we were asked to do was find you and bring you home. The next thing we have to do is find out who did this to you and make him or her pay for hurting you.”
The little boy tilted his head to the side as if considering Tennyson’s words. “You mean he’s gonna get punished?”
There was a clue Michael might not be sure he’d given them. He’d just revealed his killer was a man. “Yes. When Ronan and I find him, we’re going to punish him.” There was no need to burden the boy with the ins and outs of the court system.
Michael shook his head sadly. “He can’t be punished.”
Before Tennyson could respond, the little boy’s spirit vanished.
“Shit,” Ten whispered.
“What is it? What happened?” Ronan asked.
Tennyson squeezed their still-joined hands. “Michael revealed a few more clues about his killer.”
“He did?” Ronan looked stunned.
Tennyson nodded. Michael was the least forthcoming child spirit he’d ever channeled. “Yeah, first of all, he said his killer was a man.”
“And second of all?” Ronan leaned in closer.
“He said the man couldn’t be punished.” Tennyson looked deep into Ronan’s blue eyes. Aside from a man who was already dead, what kind of a man couldn’t be punished?
27
Ronan
Before today if someone had asked Ronan what the worst day of his life was, he would have said it was a toss-up between the day Josh told him their marriage was over and the day his mother died. Now, he’d say the day of Michael Frye’s funeral was the new winner. Or loser, to be more accurate.
When the funeral concluded, he and Tennyson had followed the tiny casket out into the harsh January afternoon. Snow flurries steadily built as the funeral procession made its way from the church to the graveyard several hundred feet behind it. By the time the final prayers had been said and red roses were laid on the casket, several inches of snow coated the ground.
Tennyson had insisted they stay behind to offer Jackie and Ross their own personal condolences. Ronan knew Ten wanted to let the grieving parents know that Michael had been at the service and knowing his soft-hearted lover, probably wanted to offer them a reading so they could speak with their son after this trying day.
As Ross was coaxing Jackie from the casket, she gave her husband a shove, sending him flying to the ground. The buildup of snow had become slippery and Ross slipped, which sent him careening into a nearby gravestone where he hit his head. While others attended to Ross, Jackie threw herself on the coffin and started sobbing.
Ronan had gone to help Ross, while Tennyson had helped Jackie. Somehow that turned into both he and Tennyson being invited back to the Frye house after the mercy meal that afternoon, making an already long day seem interminable.
“Remind me again why we’re doing this,” Ronan said irritably.
Tennyson rooted around in the glove box of Ronan’s Mustang and pulled out a colorful stone. He pried Ronan’s right hand off the steering wheel and wrapped his fingers around it.
“Jesus Christ, Ten, not the friggen rock again.” He felt like a willful toddler when Tennyson gave him the healing crystal. What the hell was next, a juice box and a nap?
“The Fryes just buried their son, Ronan. They deserve all the comfort we can give them.” Tennyson turned from him to stare out the window.
“It’s going to be dark soon,” Ronan mumbled. What he’d really wanted to tell Tennyson was that he wasn’t any good at comforting people. He was better at finding the bastards who committed these heinous crimes and locking them up. Coddling and hand holding were not his strong suits.
“If you think this day was hard on you, think about how hard it was for them. Christ, you can be so damn selfish sometimes. They buried their son. The son they’ve spent seven years blaming each other for losing. The son they spent seven years looking for. The lost son that tore them apart.” Tennyson’s voice was shrill, bordering on hysterical.
“Take the rock and calm the hell down.” Ronan opened his palm and thrust the stone toward him. Christ, this video was going to be gold for Brett McCabe. Nothing got viewers to tune in faster than squabbling lovers.
“I don’t need the damn stone. I need you to grow up and act like an adult.” Tennyson folded his arms over his chest.
“You first,” Ronan muttered. He knew they were both acting childish, but he was just so emotionally spent from this day. He’d never been to a funeral before where an ambulance had needed to be called for both grieving parents.
Ross Frye had needed a couple of stitches and some Tylenol while Jackie had needed something a bit stronger than that to calm her nerves and get her to release her son’s coffin so that the cemetery workers could lower it into the ground.
She’d kept shouting that she hadn’t put a blanket in the coffin with her son. It was January in Massachusetts and her baby would be so cold without a blanket. Ronan had seen Tennyson whispering to her when she’d finally let go of the coffin and allowed herself to be led away. As bitchy as he was being with his lover at the moment, he knew what Ten was going through emotionally was much worse than his own burden. “What did you say to Jackie?”
“What?” Tennyson turned to him with a foggy look in his eyes, like he’d been a million miles away when Ronan had spoken.
“When Jackie was sobbing about Michael needing a blanket. What did you say to her to get her away from the coffin?”
Tennyson stared at Ronan for a minute as if he were trying to gage his lover’s level of sincerity. “I told her that Michael didn’t need a blanket because his soul was full of sunshine.”
“Oh,” Ronan gasped. He was stunned by Tennyson’s answer, not only by the cleverness of it, but by the beauty of it as well. He never would have thought to answer Jackie in that way. He would have run back to the Mustang and grabbed the musty old Bruins blanket he kept in the trunk in case he ever broke down on the side of the road, and then bribed the grounds crew to bury it with the boy’s coffin.
“Oh, what? Oh, that’s really stupid?” Tennyson sighed and turned back to look out the window at the deepening twilight.
“No sweetheart, I…” Damn, Ronan was never any good at this.
When he and Josh would fight, his ex would storm off and they’d make up by having explosive sex. No one ever said they were sorry and they both got to work off their anger with sex. At the time, Ronan thought it was a win-win situation. Now, he knew differently, and he didn’t want to blow off Tennyson’s feeling. “What you said was beautiful and I was just thinking there was no way I could have ever said anything that comforting to Jackie.”
Tennyson turned back to Ronan. Even in the near-darkness Ten could see the remorse in his
eyes. “Okay, that was bitchy of me to say. It’s just been a really long day.”
“I know it has. It’s been a long day for both of us. How about after this we head back to my place and crash in front of some old Will and Grace reruns on Netflix?”
“Throw in some ice cream with hot fudge and I’m there.” Tennyson grinned.
“Do I have to put the hot fudge on my ice cream or can I drizzle it on you?” Ronan parked the car in front of the fortress that used to be the Frye family home.
“Depends on how well you behave when we get inside.” Tennyson leaned across the steering wheel to brush a kiss over Ronan’s lips to seal his promise.
The gate was buzzed open for them once Ronan got himself and Tennyson out of the car. The sidewalks were icy from the snow that had fallen earlier in the day. While Ronan guided himself and Ten toward the front door, he scrambled for something comforting to say to Michael’s parents.
“Please come in,” Jackie Frye said, when she opened the door. She had changed out of the black pantsuit she’d been wearing at the funeral. Now she was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a red sweater that looked like she’d owned for ten years. Ronan wouldn’t be surprised if Michael recognized it.
“Thank you for inviting us,” Tennyson said. “How is Ross?”
Jackie threw a hand up in the air. “Who knows? He’s on his third bourbon, so I’m sure he’s feeling no pain, physical or otherwise.”
Ronan made a mental note to check on the man. He knew booze and concussions did not mix.
Jackie led them into the living room which was now devoid of everything to do with Michael. Before the room had been a living shrine to the missing boy, now it looked empty. It reminded Ronan of any room you’d see on one of those real estate shows where they remove every family memento, so the prospective buyers can picture their things in your house.
“What happened to all of Michael’s pictures?” Tennyson asked gently, taking a seat across from Jackie in a high-backed leather chair.
“Michael is gone. It’s high time all of his things were too.” Jackie looked up at the ceiling as if she were trying to keep tears from spilling down her cheeks.
Tennyson exchanged an alarmed look with Ronan. “Was that your opinion on the matter or Ross’s?”
“I was at the mall shopping for the pantsuit I wore today. When I came home later that afternoon, the living room looked like this. I felt gut-punched. I started screaming and crying. Ross told me to grow the fuck up. Michael was dead, and it was time to move on.”
Ronan saw the sadness creep into Tennyson’s dark eyes. He knew his lover was feeling all of Jackie’s emotions full-on. What must it be like for him to deal with that on a daily basis? To feel emotions that weren’t his own? To cry tears of someone else’s grief?
His jaw tightened. Every instinct in his body urged him to protect Tennyson, but he promised the psychic he’d be on his best behavior while they were here. Ronan knew Jackie’s needs came first right now. There would be time to pamper Ten later.
“Michael was at the service today,” Ten said softly.
The tears Jackie had been struggling so hard to hold back, finally broke through. They tumbled down her face and landed on her red sweater. “He was? Where?”
Tennyson managed a weak smile. “He sat with me for a moment.”
“With you? Why?” Jackie looked more hurt than confused.
“Because Tennyson can hear and see him,” Ronan offered, glad to finally have something to contribute to the conversation.
Tennyson shot him a grateful nod before turning his attention back to Jackie. “He was amazed to see how many people were there for him.”
Jackie shrugged. “I’m not sure how many people were there for Michael or just to be part of the spectacle of it all.”
“I don’t understand.” It was Ronan’s turn to be confused.
“Don’t give me that bullshit, detective.” Jackie raised an elegant eyebrow at Ronan. The look in her eyes was stone cold. “Other, more important, news stories replaced Michael’s disappearance over time. Political scandals, murders, other kidnappings, police corruption… You know, with the twenty-four-hour news cycle, the beat goes on, right?” Without giving Ronan the chance to respond, Jackie powered on. “The same thing happens with police investigations, which I’m sure you know all about. Leads run out, witnesses have nothing new to offer, cases go cold, and rather than wasting valuable detectives’ time on dead cases, you get reassigned. Oh, sure, maybe you make a call or two around Christmas or the anniversary to say you’re still working the case, but I knew better…” Jackie stared at Ronan.
“Jackie, I’m so sorry that you were-”
Michael’s mother held up a hand to stop Ronan’s apology in its tracks. “The cops and media weren’t the only ones to drift away from us. Friends, neighbors, work colleagues, they all did the same thing over time. I mean how many tuna noodle casseroles can you make for the neighbor with the missing kid, right? How many offers of, ‘Let me know if you need anything,’ can you make?” Jackie shrugged. “None of those people were there for me or Ross through the worst of times, but they were all there today in that church, crying as if they missed my son. As if my pain was their pain.”
Tennyson reached a hand out her. “There was so much genuine grief in that church today, Jackie. If grief had been water, we all would have drowned. But, you also make a valid point, I also felt a lot of guilt too. So many of us are good in a short-term crisis. Like you said, friends brought casseroles. I’m sure if you’d needed a friend to grab a gallon of milk they would have done it no problem, but when a crisis turns long-term, unless you’ve been there yourself, you don’t know how to react or how to help.”
“Have you been there, Tennyson?” Jackie asked.
“No, but I’ve worked with enough clients to know how to be helpful during those times. It’s why I wanted to be here today.”
“Just more lip service.” Jackie sighed.
“I know Tennyson can help you, if you’ll let him,” Ronan chimed in. He knew he didn’t have any of Tennyson’s gifts, but sitting here with the dead boy’s mother, he could feel her pain and her sense of isolation. It was the night of her son’s funeral and the only people here to comfort her were himself and Tennyson. Even her husband was off in another room.
“What could you possibly say to me that will make me feel better?” Jackie’s eyes were cold and dead.
Ronan could tell they were quickly wearing out their welcome. He hoped Tennyson had the right words here because he had nothing.
“Michael is whole and safe, Jackie. You might not be able to see and hear him, but I can. You need to hold fast to that and the memories you have of him from the five years he was here with you. It serves no purpose to remember what happened these last few days. Michael will always be with you. Never forget that.”
“Is he here now?”
Tennyson shook his head. “He was with us at the funeral and then he left because…”
Oh shit… Ronan knew Tennyson was going to have to admit why Michael had left the funeral.
“Why did he leave?” Jackie looked between Ronan and Tennyson.
“He inadvertently gave us a clue about his killer and when I pushed him for more, he left,” Tennyson said with obvious regret in his voice.
“You told us earlier that everyone eventually drifted away from you, Jackie. Tennyson and I are not going to do that. We are working this case until it’s solved and the son of a bitch who took your son from your arms is rotting in prison.” Rule number one in detective work was to never make promises you couldn’t keep.
Come hell or high water, Ronan was keeping this promise to Jackie Frye.
28
Tennyson
Tennyson was still sticky in places a man should never be sticky. He didn’t know how that was possible after he and Ronan had showered after they’d taken turns drizzling each other with hot fudge. He was trying hard not to fidget as Ronan drove them to the p
recinct after Captain Fitzgibbon’s emergency call interrupted them during round two.
“Got ants in your pants, Nostradamus?” Ronan asked with a saucy wink.
Tennyson had a fiery comeback, but not one he wanted to make in front of the voice-activated cameras in the Mustang. He settled instead for shooting Ronan a heated look. “What do you think Fitzgibbon wants to see us about? Do you think there’s a break in the case?”
“Or a complaint.” Ronan shrugged. “I’ve only been working for the captain for a few weeks so I’m not sure why he’d call us both in like this with no details as to why he wants to see us.”
Ronan looked concerned, which concerned Tennyson. The conversation with the captain had been brief and when Ronan had hung up the phone, he’d headed off toward the bathroom, uninterested in finishing what they’d been in the middle of doing, which was not like Ronan at all.
The rest of the ride into work was silent, leaving Tennyson to ponder his own thoughts and suppositions as to what the captain could possibly want to see them both about this early in the morning. He hoped Ronan’s ex would be out working a case. The last thing either of them needed was another run in with that toxic man.
Both men breezed past Brett McCabe and the contingent of cameramen waiting for them in the lobby of the precinct building. Tennyson was practically running behind Ronan to keep up with him. He managed to grab Ronan’s elbow and steer him into a first-floor bathroom.
“What the fuck, Ten. The captain said he wanted to see us ASAP.” Ronan looked like he was on his last shred of patience.
Tennyson checked under all of the stalls for feet and finding none, turned back to Ronan. “I know that, but this is the last chance we’re going to have to talk privately before then. You’ve been quiet and surly about this early morning call-out. What’s got you back in this mood? I haven’t seen you this upset since we first started working together.”
