by Lia Black
He had barely crossed the threshold when he heard a sound that made his heart catch. It was the crack of an old-fashioned handgun being fired. Time became sluggish, one frame shifting slowly to the next, blurred by a pale fog. Sean spun around just as Mercury’s body fell, a mist of blood hanging in the air like red steam. The gun fell from his thin fingers, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. Mercury appeared to take a step back but stumbled, folding up like a chair had been pulled out from under him. His body jerked as it landed and he made no effort to catch himself, ending up on his back. His limbs were splayed, looking as though his bones were sticks and his joints were bound with loose string. The paleness of his skin, the silver hair, and the dark hole in his forehead stood out in sharp relief against the muted blurs of the rest of the world. If it had been anyone else, the bullet would have taken off the top of his skull just like it had Sean’s father, but Mercury’s head had all ready proved to be harder than a regular human’s.
The woman opened her mouth, the sound muffled by the roaring of blood in Sean’s ears and his own cry. She rushed towards Mercury, but Sean was all ready running, all ready so much closer, determined to reach him, praying that all of this was some horrible nightmare.
Sean was jostled and shoved before he could reach Mercury, buffeted by the heavily armored troops as they pushed past him and into the room. He was knocked to the floor, trying to crawl the last few inches to Mercury, but couldn’t get through the forest made of legs. The soldiers grabbed the woman and her companion, a large man with a shaved head. Sean felt clammy, rough hands grabbing his arms from behind. Sean was jerked to his feet, spun around so quickly that it made him dizzy, and pushed face-first against the cold wall.
“Please,” he gasped, the breath being crushed out by the man pushed up against him. “I need to see him!”
“Son,” an older man’s voice said close to Sean’s ear. “You need to worry about yourself. Sergeant Sean Argeneau, you are hereby relieved from duty and under arrest for aiding and abetting a fugitive…”
The rest of the words were muffled by the hammering of Sean’s heart. He was dizzy, none of this felt real. Tears were streaming down his face as every negative emotion hit him at once: anger, despair, fear… it was finding his father’s body all over again, only worse. This time he was right there—he could have stopped it…should have done something…Sean flinched when he was handcuffed. No need for a pat-down because he was only in his underwear.
Men in dark emergency medical gear pushed through the chaos, one crouching near Mercury. Sean heard one word clearly: Alive, then he was pushed out into the hall, stumbling, sick. Grabbed under each arm, Sean was perp-walked, taken away from Mercury, uncertain if he was alive or only living for a few moments longer.
“Please…” Sean begged but it went unheeded. He managed to glance over his shoulder in time to see Mercury raised on a stretcher, an oxygen mask covering his face, but then they rounded the corner, cutting off his view.
36
Sean sat on the edge of his cot, staring at the sterile floor of his holding cell. He’d asked not to be sent to Luna Max to await trial, so being ex-military, he was sent to a Federation Military detainment facility. It made sense, for a myriad of reasons. Because he was a cop, because Warden Lyttel had expressed the theory that Sean was guilty before he’d been fairly tried, because the media and Sol Labs would know that’s where he was. Sean was the last person who had seen Mercury conscious, and everyone—Sol Labs included—wanted to know the last words that had left Mercury’s lips.
But Sean wasn’t speaking. After his arrest, during the ride on the prison transport—gut aching, mind screaming and replaying everything over and over again in vivid detail—Sean found that dark corner, the crawlspace in his brain. It was the porch he’d been trapped under as a child, when he, at seven years old, understood what it was like to look death in the face and accept it. He’d retreated to that emotional landscape after his dad’s suicide. It was an empty place, void of emotion, free of anything but silent peace.
Mercury had told him he loved him, and Sean believed it to be true, more than anything he’d believed in his life. And then, Mercury had pulled the trigger.
He’d been told that Mercury had survived the gunshot, but it had destroyed the chip in his head, leaving bits of shrapnel littering his brain. He’d been in a coma ever since, and wasn’t expected to recover.
Sean’s head and face had been shaved, as was protocol. It was more psychological than done out of necessity as it had once been when things like insect vermin was an issue between prisoners. It uncovered the scar he’d gotten from being stuck under that collapsed porch. He’d lost weight again, only eating enough to keep them from going the route of a feeding tube. Everything was bland and tasteless. His world had become gray.
His mother had cried when she saw him through the vidcom. He just wanted to let her know that he was alive. She wouldn’t come see him and he didn’t blame her. It might have been kinder to let her think he’d been killed on Terra Huygen. At least she’d have a grandchild soon to help her forget what a fuck-up and disappointment her oldest son had turned out to be. With no defense, he’d probably be locked up for at least a decade.
Sean was startled by the unexpected buzzing of his cell door being unlocked and a large shadow filling the space.
“Argeneau,” the guard said. “Someone’s here to see you.”
Evan sat opposite him at the long counter, separated by a pane of unbreakable glass. Sean could tell he was bouncing his knees—a nervous habit—because the briefcase in his lap was bobbing just above the edge of the counter top. “Sean…” he said. His gaze showed pity.
Sean looked away.
Evan had cut his hair, the curls were now barely points standing up on his head and he had a tan. His gold wedding band glinted when he moved his hand. He looked good, much happier than he’d looked when he and Sean had been together.
“Sean,” Evan said again, his voice sounded restrained and tinny through the speaker. “You look…”
“Like shit?” Sean offered, raising his eyebrows. His throat was full of cobwebs after not speaking for so long. He glanced at the bottle of water the guard had set down in front of him, but didn’t feel like making the effort to drink it.
A little frown quirked one corner of Evan’s mouth. “Yes. Although I was trying to say it politely.”
“Don’t.” Sean shook his head. “I need some raw honesty right now.”
“Do you know why I’m here?”
Sean shrugged. While it would be nice to have Evan represent him at trial, Evan wasn’t a fool. Even though the bulk of the evidence was circumstantial at best, Sean had nothing to counter it. Without a compelling defense, it didn’t matter how good an attorney Evan was. Sean had all ready accepted his fate.
Evan paused for a moment before continuing. “It’s because I got an interesting package in the mail. It was sent anonymously, but has been stamped by several drone couriers. Probably not from our solar system.” The way Evan was watching him told him he thought Sean knew the story behind it, but Sean was just as lost as he was.
“Did you open it?” Sean asked.
“Yes, after I had the bomb squad check it out. It contained several things, one of which was a letter addressed to you.” Evan reached into his breast pocket and showed Sean a nondescript envelope.
“Can I see it?”
Evan shook his head. “No. Not just yet. Not until I have a look at the evidence that came with it. I have to tell you, Sean, by itself, this letter is pretty damning.”
Sean had a feeling he knew who it was from, and he couldn’t stop his heart from trying to beat its way out of his chest and through the glass partition. “Him?”
Evan tipped his head slightly, indicating yes. “There was a note for me as well. Fairly nonsensical, but I think I got the gist of it.”
Mercury must have had it sent from the Virgero Spaceport sometime before…everything. Now his interest in Evan
at that time made a bit more sense, though Sean hadn’t told him much. Somehow Mercury had managed to track Evan down. It was both impressive and slightly terrifying. “How is he?” Sean asked, his voice low. He thought he saw disappointment in Evan’s expression.
“About as well as could be expected for a man who shot himself in the head. He’s alive, but most of that is machines, from what I’ve heard…” Evan stopped when Sean lost control of the lock he’d put on his emotions and choked back a sob. “I—I’m sorry, Sean, I wasn’t…”
“No,” Sean shook his head, trying to push it all back down. “My fault. I should have known better than to ask. Nobody will tell me anything here. I just keep hoping he’ll come out of it.” Mercury had definitely done some pretty impossible things, but this might be even beyond him.
“I’ll let you know about anything I hear, okay?” Evan said, his voice soft, like he was speaking to a nervous child. “Sean,” Evan brushed back a stray piece of hair from his forehead. “Have you considered you may be suffering from Stockholm Syndrome?” He looked at Sean almost pleadingly, probably trying to get him to help himself by claiming some form of mental instability.
From the outside looking in, it seemed a logical conclusion. Sean had been a good cop, but then everything changed, and suddenly he was helping the man he’d been directed to bring to justice. Even if it was the case—that being Mercury’s prisoner for a while had fucked with his morals, Sean didn’t care. “He was my prisoner first. Besides, they’ve all ready decided I killed Reeves.”
Evan’s gaze flashed to the guard standing against the wall a few yards behind Sean. He wouldn’t ask Sean if he’d killed him because he was a good lawyer, and he knew that walls had ears.
“Look, it’s going to take me some time to check the evidence and get the data decrypted.”
“Data?”
“Several things in the package,” Evan reiterated, pinching the bridge of his nose as though a headache was coming on. His wedding band caught the light.
Sean mulled over what that could be. Data? It couldn’t be from the chip in Mercury’s head, could it? He thought about the eye-patch, how strung-out Mercury had looked after disappearing for days. Sean’s hands became fists; he clenched them tightly, digging in his short nails, trying to stop them from shaking. “How’s Charles?” he asked, trying to move the subject elsewhere so he could gather his wits and calm down.
Evan’s gaze flashed to him from under the shadow of his hand. He set it to join his other hand on his briefcase. “Fine,” he said. “He’s fine. Thank you for asking.”
“When was the wedding?”
“The wedding?” Evan looked down at his ring as though he’d forgotten about it. “Oh. It was in June.”
“That’s great. I mean it. It’s good to see you happy, Ev.” Sean moved some muscles in his face, hoping it looked like a smile. Evan didn’t return the smile, which meant that Sean’s attempt had failed miserably.
“Look, Sean, I’m going to help you if I can, but you have to be honest with me.”
“Of course,” Sean shrugged but he was shaking. Evan was his only hope. Evan was the only other person who knew him, probably better than he knew himself.
“We’re also going to do this my way. You might not agree with it, but if you want to get out of here, you’re going to have to compromise a little of your control.”
“You have no idea just how good I’ve gotten at that.” Sean offered a bitter chuckle.
Evan looked away. “Sean, Mercury is never getting out,” he said, almost too quietly to hear. “There is no reason you should suffer to protect him. There is nothing left to protect.”
Sean’s stomach twisted in on itself and he closed his eyes, which were beginning to sting. “You can’t understand what you’re asking me to do. You’re asking me to put another nail into his coffin. He’s all ready dead enough.”
Evan heaved a heavy sigh, finally looking away. “It’s for your own good…but maybe…well, if there is something in the data to help your case…I pray to god there is.” The chair trumpeted, echoing loudly as it scuffed across the floor when Evan got up.
“Evan,” Sean said, his fingers rubbing along the slick tabletop as his hand flexed, wanting to reach out. “I can’t pay you…and I won’t let you work for free.”
Evan grabbed his briefcase. “Sean, he left you everything.”
His face felt cold as the blood leaked out of his heart. “What? But—”
“Along with the letter he sent me, there was a set of specific instructions; a legally binding power of attorney. I don’t know if it’s blood money, and nobody can prove that it is. He was an investor, Sean. A very shrewd one. For what it’s worth, you’re one of the richest men in the galaxy, and now you have one of the best lawyers money can buy.”
Waiting was the hardest part. It gave him too much time to think. Sometime during their stay at the port, Mercury had managed to draw up a legal will, naming Sean as the sole inheritor of everything Mercury owned. Even with several items confiscated as evidence, that left Sean with a fortune so vast, it was unfathomable. None of it would matter if he never got out to claim it.
On Evan’s advice, the facility allowed a psychiatric specialist he’d chosen to meet with Sean twice a week. Sean had almost begun to look forward to it because it was something different that helped to pass the time. He had been seeing her for about three weeks now. Sean’s trial had been pushed back to allow Evan time for discovery, and presumably to help establish a diagnosis of Sean’s mental state when he’d been with Mercury. Stockholm Syndrome was brought up again and again until Sean stopped caring if it was fact. He didn’t want to be cured. He just wanted to see Mercury again. A wide opening had been torn in Sean’s world when Mercury told Sean he loved him, then blew a hole in his brain. The rift let in the dark and the cold, and Sean had no way to seal it. He didn’t know how he felt; if he loved Mercury, if it was just a twisted sense of infatuation, or a desire to be in control of someone so uncontrollable. When he was alone—which was most of the time—he often began processing these things in his brain. Maybe his feelings for Mercury were no less normal than his feelings for Evan had been, but just like any behavior society deemed “abnormal”, they’d labeled and categorized it as a mental illness of some kind. Homosexuality used to be considered a mental illness too, until more people stepped up to support it. It was a numbers thing. Majority rules. What he had with Mercury was rare for obvious reasons, but Sean wasn’t sure that made it wrong.
Probably, some of Mercury’s logic had rubbed off on him, and he’d started to see the crazy rainbows beyond the black and white borders of societal norms he’d always adhered to. He let the psychiatrist diagnose him with an alphabet of disorders. If Evan did manage to get Sean out, the first thing he’d do is find Mercury, to see if there was any closure to be had.
A guard intercepted Sean as he was being escorted from his last session with his psychiatrist. “Argeneau, your lawyer is here.”
Five minutes later, Sean was led, still handcuffed and shackled, to a small, gray room with only a table and two chairs. The floor was so shiny, buffed to a high gloss and left unmarred, it bothered Sean’s eyes. He was so used to the dark gray shadows of everything that if he ever saw the light of the sun, it would likely strike him blind. Evan was pacing when they brought Sean in and plunked him down in one of the seats. Evan frowned and glared at the guard. “Is that really necessary?”
“Protocol, sir,” the guard said unapologetically.
“Fine, whatever. Just leave us alone.”
“But sir, protocol—”
“Fuck protocol. I’ve got a law library full of precedent. I have the absolute right to discuss private matters with my client in private. If you’d like to argue that matter I also have five minutes to make one vid call and end your career.”
The guard made a little choking sound but didn’t say another word as he left the room. He’d done what a lot of people did when they saw Evan: he’d u
nderestimated him. Fresh-faced, attractive man who looked like he was only old enough to have just graduated law school.
“God you’re sexy when you’re being tough,” Sean deadpanned, then apologized. “Sorry. I shouldn’t talk to you like that anymore. I don’t even know if we’re friends.”
Evan raised his eyebrows. “Of course we’re friends. I know too much about you to hate you, which is why I’m so completely baffled as to why I’m talking to you as an inmate.” He took something out of his breast pocket—a nondescript little black cube about the size of a ring box and set it on the table. Sean knew instantly what it was. It was a sound wave scrambler; any recordings of conversations, or even someone trying to listen through a hole in the wall, would only pick up sounds too garbled to piece back together with even the highest tech. Sean appreciated that Evan wasn’t taking any chances. It was more likely than not that everything was being recorded, and at this point it could be by anyone.
“I looked over your psychiatrist’s official reports. Stockholm Syndrome, dissociative disorder, anxiety, depression…”
Sean felt his anger flare up. “Is there a point to this? I’m a— ” he closed his eyes. “I was a cop. Most of that comes with the badge.” He blew out a deep breath as regret settled cold, smothering the heat. “I’m sorry, Evan.”
“It’s fine, Sean,” Evan said, his voice low and even. He sat down in the chair on the other side of the table. “There are a lot of things we need to go over. Are you going to be all right for this?”
