by Pandora Pine
Ronan frowned and pulled out his phone. “Holy shit, captains! It’s 2:50pm now. Please tell me you’ve got an opening remark prepared for me to go live with. Something? Anything!”
Both men looked at each other and shook their heads no.
Before the rising panic could overtake him, Ronan tried to take a cleansing breath. “Where is this fiasco being held?”
“Downstairs in the media room,” Fitzgibbon said.
Ronan nodded. “I’ll be at my desk.” He practically ran out of the room. He wanted to text Tennyson to let him know that he was going to be on television, but there wasn’t time. He also needed to remember to put his phone on the charger, it was nearly dead.
Looking out at the assembled members of the media, Ronan felt his mouth go dry. There were only about twenty people in the room but all the same, he felt like he was starting to overheat. “Hello, I am Detective Ronan O’Mara. I’m a member of the Boston Police Department’s Cold Case Unit. I’ll be speaking with you today about the recent string of homicides in the city that have involved teenage victims Max Harmon and Zach Ryan.
“I’m sure you’re all wondering why a member of the cold squad is here speaking with you all today rather than a member of the Homicide Unit. It has to do with the fact that these two homicides very closely mirror the serial killings committed by Rod Jacobson.”
The media room, filled with reporters from local news and print agencies, television and radio stations erupted, with everyone shouting out questions at once.
Ronan held a hand up, hoping to quiet the room back down. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll take questions at the end.” He took a deep breath hoping to keep the nerves out of his voice. When the room had simmered back down again, he continued, “As you all know, Rod Jacobson was killed in a shootout with the BPD back in May. We believe these recent killings are the work of a copycat killer. As I said a moment ago, there are several aspects that are the same as the Jacobson killings, however, there is one element to these new killings that is very different. While Rod Jacobson only targeted homeless male prostitutes, this killer is going after straight male high school students that come from two-parent families. While we are stopping short of issuing a city-wide curfew to young men of high school age we are urging an abundance of caution. For the safety of your children, you may want to impose a curfew yourselves until we have apprehended this killer. I’ll take questions now.” He looked around the room making anxious eye contact with some of the reporters.
“Do you have any suspects at this time?” a reporter from the local CBS affiliate shouted out.
“Not at this time, which is why we’re bringing this story to the media. We’re hoping one of your readers or viewers saw or heard something that could lead us to new evidence or a person of interest.” Ronan felt cold sweat trickle down his spine.
“Detective O’Mara, Will Kirkpatrick from The Boston Globe, are you involved in this new case because you were the one who shot and killed Rod Jacobson?”
Jesus fucking Christ… Ronan tried hard not to roll his eyes. “Homicide asked for my assistance on this new rash of killings because I was the lead investigator on the Jacobson murders. I am more than happy to share what I know with that unit.”
“Is your partner and lover psychic Tennyson Grimm along for the ride on this case as well?” a voice shouted from the back.
Ronan gritted his teeth. He could feel a muscle ticking in the side of his jaw. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but he thought the person shouting out the question was one of those assholes from The Herald’s Inside Track. “Mr. Grimm has been brought in as a consultant on this case. This case is about keeping teenage boys safe and catching a killer, not increasing your circulation with some salacious gossip. Next question.”
“Rumor has it you and Tennyson got engaged over Fourth of July! Have you set a date?”
“Next question!” Ronan shouted back. He was starting to understand why Bill Belichick was such a surly son-of-a-bitch when he held press conferences. Why was Ronan’s personal life all these fucking people cared about? There was a killer on the loose.
“Has Tennyson been able to contact the spirits of these dead teenagers?”
Snorts and laughter rang out through the press room.
Ronan raised an eyebrow at the reporters behaving badly. “You know, eight months ago, I was just like those of you who snorted and rolled your eyes at that last question. I didn’t believe in anything that Tennyson did either. Then we found Michael Frye’s remains. Then we found Michael Frye’s killer, who not only confessed to the rape and murder of that five-year-old boy, but who has subsequently confessed to dozens more child rapes. Then, thanks to Tennyson, we were able to uncover a serial killer operating right here in Boston. Right under our very noses. Right under your very noses. He was one of you! How many articles did you all write in the aftermath of the Rod Jacobson case, ladies and gentlemen, about how lax the Boston Police Department had become? Dozens? Hundreds? When the killer was among your very ranks all along.” Ronan shrugged.
He needed to watch his step here. He needed the men and women in this room to help keep the killer’s victim pool safe and to just maybe help catch this killer. “Look, the BPD knows that we need to use every tool available to us when it comes to catching criminals. Tennyson Grimm has proven on several occasions that he is a resource that we can trust to help us solve cases. Without naming any names, I see faces in this room who I know for a fact are Tennyson’s clients.”
Ronan knew he had his toe on the line. He took a breath and stared directly at the bank of cameras. “In closing, I would once again urge all of the parents to make sure your sons are in before dark. I know we’re asking a lot, but keeping your kids safe is our number one priority. The Boston Police Department is increasing the number of patrol officers on the streets as well as the number of unmarked units and undercover officers. We’re asking the public to contact us with any leads. If you see something, say something. Be safe, everyone.” Ronan stepped away from the podium and walked quickly out of the room with his head held high.
The first thing he wanted to do was get back upstairs so he could text Tennyson and see what his fiancé thought of his performance.
22
Tennyson
“Tennyson?” a soft voice whispered while a hand carded through his hair.
Ten thought he recognized the voice, but it wasn’t possible that the voice’s hand could be touching him. She was dead and he was very much alive.
At least he thought he was.
“Erin?” Tennyson opened his eyes, expecting to see Ronan’s mother, but all he saw instead was darkness. It was a darkness so black that he couldn’t see his own hand before his eyes.
“I’m here, Tennyson.” Erin O’Mara replied.
“Why can’t I see you?” Panic was rising in Tennyson’s voice.
Erin chuckled. “I don’t know, sweetheart. This is your dream. Or vision. Or whatever it is. I’m just a guest here.”
“Ronan! I have to get to Ronan!” Ten sat up and felt a wave of nausea pass through his entire body. He didn’t care. All that mattered was stopping the shooter from hurting Ronan.
“What happens to Ronan, must happen,” Erin said sadly.
“You can’t mean that.” Tennyson’s words were just above a whisper. He felt tears streaking down his cheeks.
“I do mean it, Ten. Things happen for all kinds of reasons. It’s not up to us to question them.”
“I can’t sit here and let Ronan die because some being wills it.” Tennyson could feel desperation battling rage in his gut.
“No one said my boy is going to die,” Erin said carefully.
“You’re not saying he’s going to live either.” Ten took a breath. “You know how much I love him. He’s my whole world. My life wouldn’t be the same without him, Erin. I’d never recover from that.”
“Tennyson…”
“I know what you’re going to say.” It wasn’t like him to cut Eri
n off like that. “I’ve got my friends, Truman and Carson, and their babies. I’ve got Fitzgibbon and Greeley. Jace Lincoln, Vann and Broughan. I know, but it’s not the same as falling asleep in the arms of a man who loves you with every ounce of his being. Ronan is the only man who’s ever loved all of me. The psychic. The medium. The man who wakes up to see spirits sitting on the edge of his bed. The man who cries during The Little Mermaid. I’ll never find that again if I lose him, Erin. I’d never want to.”
“May I speak now, Tennyson? Or are you going to wax poetic about every hair on his head or his butt-ugly toenails?”
Ten managed a short laugh. “No, I won’t do that, even though I could.” Ronan’s toenails weren’t butt-ugly, but they were close. The man shouldn’t wear open-toed shoes. Not without having had a pedicure first.
“The future isn’t carved in stone. I know Bertha Craig says that all the time and I know you know it too.” Erin’s voice was calm and steady.
Tennyson did know it. In a moment like this though, that point didn’t offer a whole lot of comfort. In a moment very soon, maybe even at this moment, Ronan was going to end up with three bullets in his chest.
“Ronan was somehow able to send you that vision, Ten. I can’t tell you how he did it, but I can tell you it wasn’t my doing. What I do know is that you have key information that you need. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Erin started to come into view as she reached out to hold his hands.
Ten nodded. He could feel the tears starting again. “You’ll be with him?”
“Of course. I’m always with him. You too, you know. Ever since the two of you got together I’ve come to think of you as my son.”
Tennyson knew Erin felt that way. It felt good to hear her say it out loud. “I know, Erin, and it means the world to hear you say that. Is there anything you can do to save him? I mean, Michael Frye saved Ronan. Can’t you do the same thing? Please.”
“I have to go now, Tennyson. This will play out the way it must. Do you understand?”
Ten felt Erin kiss his forehead and then knew he was alone. He couldn’t help feeling her visit was more than for just a pep talk. He had a feeling it was meant to keep him here. Wherever here was.
Well, fuck fate. Fuck this thing playing out the way it must. Fuck it all.
He needed to wake up and find Ronan. Right now, he was the only one who could save the love of his life.
“Ronan!” Tennyson screamed, sitting bolt upright.
“Welcome back from the dead!” Carson grinned at him.
“That isn’t funny, Carson!” Tennyson looked around, a wave of dizziness swept over him. He was still lying on the floor of West Side Magick. “Is Ronan still doing the press conference?”
Carson shook his head. “No, that ended two hours ago.”
Tennyson’s eyes popped open wide in shock. “Are you fucking kidding me? Did you call him and warn him?”
“No, I didn’t,” Carson said quietly, his guilt obvious as he looked away from his best friend.
Tennyson felt like he was in the middle of a nightmare. “Carson, before I fainted, I told you that I had a vision where I saw Ronan’s body at the foot of our stairs. He’d been shot and was lying in a pool of his own blood. Why wouldn’t you call him to warn him?”
“My mother and Erin O’Mara both asked me not to.” Carson’s face was full of guilt and remorse.
Tennyson’s mouth hung open. He felt himself slipping back toward unconsciousness again, but he’d be damned if he was going to fail Ronan now. There were so many things he wanted to say to Carson right now. Things he wanted to scream and rail about, but there would be time for that later. Tennyson just hoped that later wouldn’t be after he picked out a headstone for his fiancé. “Is he going to die, Carson?” He reached out and grabbed Carson by his shirt and yanked him closer. Panic like Tennyson had never felt before in his life gripped him.
“I don’t know, Ten. I can’t see it and none of my spirit guides are giving me a clue. Erin and Bertha are keeping mum too.” Carson’s eyes were filled with a sadness Ten had never seen before.
“I have to go.” Ten climbed unsteadily to his feet and stumbled toward the shop door.
“Let this play out the way it’s meant to, Tennyson!” Carson shouted after him.
“Over my cold, dead body!” Tennyson screamed back.
23
Ronan
Ronan was still riding high over his press conference victory. When he’d gotten back upstairs, both Davidson and Fitzgibbon had congratulated him on the job he’d done handling the media vampires like a pro. Davidson had even mentioned he might have a career waiting for him in media relations when he decided to hang up his detective hat.
The only downside of his win was that Tennyson hadn’t been there in person to see it. Hell, he didn’t even know if Ten had seen it at all. When he’d gotten back to his desk, his phone had been completely dead. Making matters worse, was when he’d gotten out to the car to drive back home to Salem, the car charger wasn’t in the glovebox.
Halfway home, he realized they’d taken the charger out of the car when they’d moved into the house because neither of them could remember in which boxes they’d packed their phone chargers. Ronan must have forgotten to put the one for the car back in here.
Oh well, it didn’t matter. He’d be home in a few minutes anyway. He’d pop in the house and grab the charger and put it back in the car while he was taking Dixie for a walk. Then he’d plug the phone into the kitchen charger and call Ten. Maybe he’d even make reservations at Tennyson’s favorite Italian restaurant. After the day they’d both had, a celebration was in order.
As Ronan drove down his street, he saw that there was a parking spot available right in front of his house. Boy, today really was coming up roses for him. That reminded him, after he made dinner reservations, he’d call the local florist to see if they could deliver a single rose to the restaurant for Tennyson. It was going to be a perfect night for the two of them.
He put the car in park and hopped out. He was about to climb the stairs when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
“Hey, Ronan!” Truman called from down the street.
“Hey, Tru! Where are the babies?” Ronan knew Carson was working.
“The Salazar sisters are with them. I’m off to yoga with Cassie. Cole’s gonna fill in at the bakery for an hour so that we can get our stretch on. I’ll catch up with you later.” He held up a hand to wave.
Ronan watched his friend drive off. He remembered promising Tennyson when he’d lost his gift that the two of them would get out more and do some yoga or try bike riding together, something to help them smooth out the rough edges that doing police work tended to bring out in them.
After Ronan walked the dog, put the charger back in the car, made reservations and ordered flowers, he’d look into yoga classes and bikes. It was time he lived up to some of the promises he’d made his fiancé now that they were happily settled into their new home.
He turned back to his house and almost ran straight into Mark, one of the street kids Tony and Carlie Abruzzi had taken in.
“Hi, Ronan,” Mark said. His right hand fidgeted at his side.
“Hey, man! What are you doing all the way up here in Salem?”
“Checking out the college.” Mark shrugged. “I’m still not sure what I want to major in after I pass my GED test. Mom says I should start off with liberal arts type classes and see what I like.”
Ronan nodded and started walking back toward his front steps. He couldn’t for the life of him remember Tony mentioning anything about Mark being up in this neck of the woods this week. “I think that’s a great idea. Fitzgibbon’s son is thinking of going there too. He’s already made a bunch of friends. Seems like a good place to start over.”
Mark seemed to be thinking about that. “Greeley, right?”
“Yeah, he’s taking his GED test soon too.” Wouldn’t Tony have mentioned Mark being up here? Or would have asked hi
m to meet the kid for dinner or to help show him around the campus?
“Another one of those boys that Rod Jacobson completely fucked up.” Mark managed a laugh. There was no humor in it.
A chill ripped down Ronan’s spine. He wasn’t sure why, but what he was sure of was that he desperately wanted to get inside his house and lock the door. It didn’t seem right that this kid was all the way up in here in Salem with no sight of his parents or the other boys. Carlie or Tony would have called to let him know if one of their kids were stopping by. “How’d you get here, Mark?”
“Took an Uber from campus. We were all here a few weeks ago, helping you and Ten move in, remember?” Mark’s eyes darkened as he continued to stare intently at Ronan. His smile was gone.
Ronan knew it didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but at this moment the kid didn’t even look much like Mark anymore. There was something very wrong about this whole situation. His own sixth sense, which he didn’t really pay a lot of attention to lately with Tennyson around, was screaming at him to run. “Oh, yeah, stupid me. I’ve been up since the ass crack of dawn working on this new case. I’m exhausted. I hope you don’t mind if I head inside to go to bed.” It wasn’t a question. Ronan turned from the teenager and put his right foot on the bottom step.
“Not yet, detective.” Mark grabbed Ronan’s elbow and with surprising strength for a teenager who wasn’t much taller than 5’6” pulled him back down to the sidewalk.
When Ronan turned back, Mark was holding a gun. Where the fuck had that come from? “Okay, calm down, Mark. You don’t need the gun to get me to listen to what you came here to say.” Mark wasn’t the only one who needed to calm down. Ronan’s mind was reeling from the change in Mark’s personality and the introduction of the gun.
Ronan tried to pull his right arm free, but Mark’s grip was like iron. His gun was clipped to his right hip. There was no way to get to it in this position.
