by T. A. Webb
“There was a light strip down the passenger side in the back over a bed frame, and a metal lock box with some cash, a picture in a metal frame, and a locket.” Ben felt himself beginning to get sick, and he dropped his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin.
Frankie looked at him strangely. “The money and picture were burned; the lock box wasn’t fireproof. But yeah, the locket was there.”
“Babe?” Ben felt Marcus’s strong grip on his hand.
Fighting the nausea that threatened to make him lose his dinner, and not wanting to scare the kids, he took a long drink of his beer before turning back to Frankie. “My friend Nick has been missing for a couple of months now. I’ve been looking for him, but nobody really filed a missing persons report, I guess. That’s his van.”
Epilogue
The August heat was almost unbearable to all but those raised in the south. The locals always said, it wasn’t the heat, it was the humidity. But Marcus knew better. It was both.
After the remains were positively identified as Nick, Gabe, whatever people knew the young man as, no one stepped forward to claim the boy and bury him. His family claimed not to have a son named Nick, and slammed the door in Benjamin’s face.
Once again, his big hearted lover bought a plot and arranged for a funeral. It might be only fitting that this small corner of the cemetery was housing young men nobody wanted.
The service was set for eleven in the morning on the fifteenth. Unlike the burial for the young man named Travis, there would be other mourners than Benjamin, Wick and him. Once the news that the man known as Gabe was found dead, word spread. Small bouquets, single flowers, notes, trinkets—all sorts of things began appearing on the grave starting early that morning. Boy after boy, young men appeared, some in ragged jeans, some in suits, but all came to pay their respects.
For all that he was labeled a whore, Marcus thought, these friends told a much different tale. He heard them, one after another, telling stories about how Gabe kept this one off the streets, found that one a place to stay. How money suddenly was in a pocket, how a meal was paid for. How a kind word made a difference.
Now they were there to bury this kid. This abused, molested, misunderstood diamond in the rough.
How many? Marcus thought. How many more did he touch that we’ll never know of?
There was no need to say, What could he have been given the chance? The proof of what he accomplished was right there for all to see.
Marcus needed look no further than the other side of the little mound of dirt. There, Benjamin and Jeremiah stood, their heads bowed. No one approached them. Their grief radiated off them like waves. Later, he would carry Benjamin home and put him in a shower and love him until he was purged of all the pain. He shared a glance with Zack, who nodded, and knew he and Archer would treat their lover with gentleness. Later, they too would try to replace the hurt with love.
Later, by God, later Marcus would find out who killed their friend.
About the Author
T.A. Webb is the writing name for the Mean Old Bear That Could. By day, he's the director of finance for a non-profit agency. He's worked with people living with HIV/AIDS and with children in the foster care system for over twenty years, and takes the smaller pay for the chance to make a difference for those who can't help themselves. After hours, he's the proud single papa of four rescue dogs, was born and raised in Atlanta, where he still lives, and is a pretty darned good country cook.
His sister taught him to read when he was four, and he tore his way through the local library over the next few years. Always wanting more, he snuck a copy of The Exorcist under his parents' house to read when he was eleven and scared the bejesus out of himself. Thus began a love affair with books that skirt the edge, and when he discovered gay literature, he was hooked for life.
T.A. can be found at Facebook under AuthorTAWebb, tweeted at #TomBearAtl, or if you really want to, you can email him at [email protected].
