The Incident

by Xavier Axelson

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Blurbs

  Copyright Statement

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  About the Author

  Titles by Xavier Axelson

  Blurbs

  After accidentally shooting and killing an innocent child, small town cop Michael Carmac, consumed with guilt, turns to a fellow officer for comfort, only to find himself falling in love.

  Michael Carmac is a small-town cop on the verge of a breakdown. After a split-second decision leaves an innocent child dead, Michael's reality unravels. Suffering from PTSD, he finds comfort in a bottle while struggling to find forgiveness. Fellow officer Bertram Angel offers Michael support, and what starts as friendship turns into something deeper—two men looking to find love, forgiveness and acceptance while moving forward and healing wounds that don't always show.

  Fireborn Publishing Copyright Statement

  The Incident

  Copyright © 2017 by Xavier Axelson

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-946004-95-6

  eBook Publication: August 2017

  Cover Artist: Brenna Lyons

  Photo Credit: 123rf

  Editor: Jamie D. Rose

  Logo copyright © 2014 by Fireborn Publishing and Allison Cassatta

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED UNDER INTERNATIONAL AND PAN-AMERICAN COPYRIGHT CONVENTIONS: Payment for this title grants the purchaser the right to download and read this file on any/all personal electronic devices personally owned by the purchaser, now or in the future, and to maintain backup copies of the file for the purchaser's personal use. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or electronic storage and retrieval, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. File sharing, with or without payment, is an international crime, prosecuted by the United States DoJ, Division of Cyber Crimes, in partnership with Interpol. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is punishable by seizure of computers, up to five years in federal prison, and a fine of $250,000 per offense.

  Please remember that authors are paid per legal purchase. We thank you for your support of author’s rights and their earnings. If you spot illegal cut-rate or free copies of this work being passed on peer-to-peer or other pirate sites, even those masquerading as legitimate retailers, please let us know at sales@firebornpublishing.com or via the author’s personal email.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

  This book is written in US English.

  PUBLISHER

  Dedication

  To my brother Anthony, the good cop

  and

  Always to "E", an angel on this planet

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Can You Hear Me Now?: Cellco Partnership dba Verizon Wireless Delaware

  Coke: Coca-Cola Company, Inc.

  Mustang: Ford Motor Company, Inc.

  Chapter 1

  "Hey, Carmac, what are you doing here?"

  Officer Michael Carmac had been caught on his knees, a position he didn't get into unless duty called for it. In this instance, it was his conscience. He looked up to see his partner Angel staring down at him, a mocking expression on his handsome face—one that Michael had been thinking way too much about lately. These days he would often find himself sneaking furtive glances at his partner's bottom lip, which was fuller than the top one, and wondering what it would be like to kiss that tender, jutting flesh.

  "I don't know" was the best response Michael could manage.

  "You still ain't sleeping?" Angel asked.

  "Give it a rest, huh?" He got up, and brushed a hand across his perfectly creased uniform.

  "Making sure you don't let praying ruin your perfect creases?" Angel joked. "You come in here every day. What do you think you're gonna find?"

  "I don't know. I guess I keep hoping to find a way out of my head," Michael said as he looked his partner over. "Maybe you should try and find your way to the dry cleaners; your uniform's a damn mess." He wanted to lighten the mood, but he knew Angel wouldn't buy his lame attempt at humor.

  "Michael—" Angel started to say.

  "I can't take the guilt and shame any more, all right? I keep hearing the gun shot, seeing that kid hit the ground, the blood." Michael's voice broke and he dropped his head. He couldn't bear to see the concern he knew would be in his partner's eyes.

  Angel made a sound like he wanted to say more, but a voice coming from behind stopped him.

  "Maybe he's looking for what all people who come into the Lord's house seek—peace, maybe some time to reflect, Officer Angel."

  Both men turned to see Father Hensley. He was the younger of the two parish priests and had an affinity for the local police. He was also the kinder, younger one and, Michael noted, the better-looking one. He had played basketball with Hensley on more than one occasion and was shocked to find the priest to be agile and in decent shape for an older man.

  "Or maybe confession, Michael," Father Hensley said, turning patient eyes on the kneeling cop. "It is about that time, if you want to get out before the general public starts coming in." He turned to Angel. "You might benefit from some time in the confessional as well, Bertram."

  Michael couldn't help but grin. Bertram Angel hated being called by his first name and cringed every time someone said it. Both men were sure Father Hensley did it intentionally.

  "Hey, Father, just because my name is Angel doesn't mean I am one," he said with a smirk. He turned to look at Michael, who had just gotten to his feet, the squeak of his pristine black shoes echoing in the silence of the church. "You come find me when you're done being sorry," Angel said sarcastically before turning and walking away.

  Michael watched him walk out, what he wanted to say burning at the back of his throat.

  Father Hensley led Michael away from the pew, where he had been kneeling. "Come, son."

  Michael paused, thinking he heard the squeal of Angel's squad car peeling out of the parking lot. Then again, he hadn't slept, so it could have been a sound inside his head. There had been so many sounds since the incident. So many smells… His stomach began to turn but managed to calm the queasiness with a few deep breaths before following Father Hensley toward the confessional.

  *****

  When Michael stepped outside Saint Anne's, the sky was a tumult of color. It was early evening and the summer sky was at its best. The Fireman's Carnival would be coming and the whole town would soon celebrate. He would have liked to feel some stir of excitement, but instead shook his head in annoyance at his hometown's need to celebrate every damned holiday, season, or turn of leaf.

  He stood on the stairs and took a deep breath. It was a fantastic night—warm, comfortable, a perfect night for a run. Although he had been to confession, it had done nothing to ease his mind. Even the warm evening seemed to be weighted with the cold memories that he was trying so desperately to erase. He had seen a shrink, which his sergeant had said was mandatory. The sessions had been a slog. The shrink hurled some feel-good, new-agey double talk at Michael and he could still remember nodding the entire time while thinking what a load of shit it was. He didn't want to hear about healing his inner
child. He wanted to hear about a way to make the trauma disappear. The shrink's language always left him confused and he usually left his sessions full of buzzing thoughts. He had half-hoped that by seeing the shrink it would help empty the garbage that was mucking up his brain. Instead, it felt the exact opposite.

  Now, as he made his way to his cruiser parked in the back parking lot of the church, he tried to shut out the static in his head. Getting in, Michael took a minute to clear his head before turning the key in the ignition. The radio that always seemed to buzz and crackle incessantly was blessedly quiet.

  Suddenly it was a drink he craved, not a run, and he knew exactly where to get one. He owed Angel a slap on the back and a beer to boot. Michael waved back to Mr and Mrs Collins, an elderly couple he passed on his way out of Saint Anne's back parking lot. It was a small town and Michael had gotten to know many of the inhabitants over the years. Sometimes he wished he hadn't. There was nothing wrong with them acknowledging him. It was that he had been seen, and being seen meant that somehow his being there would set tongues wagging, which was something he had unsuccessfully been trying to avoid. Things had gotten strange since the incident and he wondered if he would ever feel normal again.

  "Damn," he muttered under his breath as he maneuvered his cruiser onto the street and back toward the station, which was only about a mile away.

  He got there in record time, parked, got out, and headed inside. His fellow officers had put him on a shelf since the incident, which made it easy for him to get to his locker, change out of his uniform, and head back to his truck with little to no communication aside from polite, if slightly restrained, interactions. That was fine with him. He had lost the social spark that he'd once had and, in losing it, had lost the need for it as well.

  Sergeant Kinter stopped him at the back exit. Michael favored this route as it was closer to the parking lot and hardly anyone used it. For Kinter to be there at all meant something was up.

  "Sergeant," Michael said. He adjusted the duffel back containing his dirty uniform, duty belt, and his gun.

  "Today's your early day, Carmac?" Kinter asked, glaring at Michael.

  The air reeked of Kinter's cheap cologne.

  "Yes, sir." Michael sniffed and fought back a sneeze.

  "I want you to go home and get some rest." Kinter moved closer. He searched Michael's face. "You off the booze?"

  Michael nodded. "Yes, sir."

  "I hear otherwise," Kinter said. He moved closer so his nose nearly touched Michael's. "If I hear you're back on the bottle, we're gonna have a problem. Problems are something you cannot afford, Carmac."

  Michael stayed still. "I'm not drinking."

  "Yeah? If you're hanging out with Angel, I'm not so sure."

  Michael didn't answer. A trickle of sweat ran down his back and he did his best to stifle a shudder.

  "Get out," Kinter said, not moving, "and when you do, stay away from the fucking booze."

  "I will, sir," Michael said, hating the fact that his life had brought him to this moment and wondering how much longer he could stand in this man's presence before he lashed out.

  Kinter stepped aside.

  Michael pushed open the door.

  "I mean it, Michael."

  Michael let go of the door and walked slowly to his truck, instinctively knowing Kinter was watching.

  Once he got there, he looked back and saw Kinter standing outside the station staring at him. Michael fished his keys from his pocket, opened the door and put the duffel bag carefully on the passenger-side seat.

  "What a fucking prick," Michael muttered as he put on his seat belt and started the truck. Kinter hadn't moved. Michael didn't bother waving as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street.

  Halfway down the street, heading up the hill and away from the station, Michael screamed. He screamed until he couldn't see the police station in his rearview mirror.

  At some point he must have started crying, because when he stopped to collect himself at a tiny gas station that also served as a convenience store, he wiped tears from his face. Surprised, he swiped his sleeve across it and took a few breaths.

  He'd gotten himself together enough to open the door and saw two fellow officers exiting the store. He hadn't noticed their cruiser parked alongside the building farthest from him.

  "Jesus Christ," he groaned, hoping they hadn't seen him, but they had. From the looks on their faces, they looked about as thrilled to see him as he was to see them.

  They finally waved and Michael sighed, grabbed his wallet, locked the truck, and jogged over.

  "How's it going, Carmac?" Officer Fitzgerald asked.

  "Tired," Michael answered honestly.

  Fitzgerald's partner Douglas stayed quiet. He rolled his eyes to the sky and sipped from a straw stuck inside the massive soda cup.

  "You guys just starting?" Michael asked, already knowing the answer. On a small force, everyone knew when everyone else worked.

  "Yup," Fitzgerald answered. "You know Douglas needs his sugar fix or he'll be whining in an hour."

  "We all got our vices," Douglas snapped. "Isn't that right, Carmac?"

  Michael winced but didn't give in. "You boys stay safe," he said and hurried past.

  They said something in reply, but Michael ignored them.

  Fuck, don't let there be anyone else I know, he thought as he entered the store. Thankfully, it was empty.

  He didn't even know what he was looking for. He scanned the refrigerator shelves and decided on water.

  Michael paid and lucked out again as the kid behind the counter was new. Outside, the parking lot was filling up with people getting gas and Michael dodged between cars and got into his truck.

  As he was starting the engine, he felt his cell phone vibrate. Michael dug the phone from his pocket, saw Angel's name on the screen, and answered.

  "Where you at?"

  "I'm on my way. You at the Four Leaf?" Michael asked as he navigated his old truck past the station and up the huge hill that led to Main Street. "Or are you down at the club?"

  "I'm home, bro, waiting on you. Thought we'd have a couple drinks here then figure it out. So, where you at?"

  Michael heard the familiar tone in Angel's voice, the heightened rise at the end of the question that let him know that his partner was drinking. "I'll be there in a few. I'm just leaving the store. You want anything?" He prayed Angel didn't.

  "No, I'm good," Angel said. "Well, maybe some chips or something."

  "Chips?"

  "Yeah, you know the ones I like."

  Michael hung up, shaking his head. It wasn't even six yet and he could tell Angel had probably been drinking for at least an hour.

  Michael turned off the truck. He could see through the store windows that a line had formed at the cashier.

  "Fucking chips," he grumbled, but thinking of Angel enjoying the food later made him smile.

  *****

  Angel's house was on a dead-end street that led to nowhere, much the way Michael felt about his life. It was the last house on the left, with only woods behind it and enough space on either side so that Angel's privacy was never compromised. Lucky for the neighbors, Michael thought. He carried the few items he'd bought at the store along with his belt up the walkway that led to Angel's home. Michael heard the incessant throb of trance music before he'd made it halfway up the walk. He shook his head in disbelief every time he heard Angel's favorite music blaring from the windows of his car or his house. How anyone could stand that type of music was beyond him.

  Michael and Angel had met while working security at a rave in a nearby college town. Michael guessed it was while they worked the security-rave circuit that Angel had developed his love of trance. Michael remembered a night when they'd busted a car full of underage rave kids and he'd noticed Angel tapping his foot the whole time.

  "Helps me clear my head," Angel had said when Michael asked what was up with his fascination with trance.

  "Hey!" Michael shouted
as he opened the front door to Angel's house. "Hey, party monster, where are you?"

  The music suddenly died, then he heard Angel's lumbering gait. "Yeah, Mike, that you?"

  "Yeah, you crazy bastard," Michael said as his partner ushered him inside.

  "Aww yeah, you brought those chips I like?" Angel grabbed the bags from Michael's hands and opened them up with a loud pop. "Why did you bring your belt in? You could've just locked it in your glove compartment, you paranoid fucker," he asked as he cracked open a bottle of beer then handed it over the kitchen counter. Michael took it gratefully.

  "Long week, partner?" Angel asked. He came from behind the counter and leaned against it. Michael noticed Angel had changed into his sweat shorts. Slowly his eyes traveled up his partner's legs, taking in the muscular curve of his calves and the golden-brown hair that covered them. He also noticed Angel's ample bulge and found himself having to force his eyes to move away and focus on something else.

  "Every week is a long week, partner," he answered, but not before finding a seat in hopes of hiding his suddenly growing erection. "Don't forget we got that overtime next week. Kinter finally gave us a bone," he added, trying to pry his eyes from Angel's body. It had been a recent thing, his attraction to Angel, and it made him nervous to be around him when they weren't at work. At least at work they had the job, the constant need for vigilance to occupy their minds.

  "Well, we're off for the weekend, bro. Let's not go there, okay?" he said seriously. Then he smiled and said, "You gonna hit Reggie's stag at all?"

  Michael caught himself staring at Angel's bulge again when Angel reached down and scratched his nuts. "Huh?"

  "Reggie's stag party over at The Club. Earth to Carmac, you gonna hit it or what?"

  When Michael looked up at Angel's face, he was smiling; Michael felt a sudden heat rise in his cheeks.