The Incident

by Xavier Axelson

  "You're fooling yourself, Michael, and you know it. You thought if you and I—"

  "If you and I what, Angel? You wanna scream it across the high school track?" Michael was just far enough away now that he hesitated to say more.

  "I'm not afraid, Mikey. You are!"

  "Fuck you, Angel!" Michael yelled back, then walked away.

  Michael had hoped Angel would call out to him and he slowed his pace in anticipation of it, but there was nothing. Michael could only hear the noise of the festival and the dry sound of some insects in the tall grass between the tennis courts and the track.

  The night was beginning to feel surreal and he yearned to be home, away from the noise and confusion that was banging at the back of his head like an unwelcome guest. Instead of heading to his car, Michael found himself pacing the field. He felt like a rodent on the edge of some glittering city full of lights and excitement where other beings lived—a place he could visit but not stay. He walked the familiar path down and behind the high school. The whole time he talked to himself, pretending Angel walked beside him, practicing what he would say, how he could explain his fears and anxieties. When he accidentally stumbled on a couple making out in a shadowy alcove of the school, they stared at him like he was crazy. He looked down at his feet, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and kept walking until he faced the festival spectacle again. He had to find Angel, tell him the real reason he'd walked away, and hope they could move on as friends, partners, and…

  Michael couldn't imagine his life with Angel—or his life without him. In this town men didn't date each other. They certainly didn't have relationships, Michael couldn't think of one openly gay person, except that one kid he knew back in high school, the one everyone tormented, the one everyone still talked about. If he lived in the city, it would be different. He'd gone out a couple times to gay bars there, but coming out in this town, especially as a cop, would be disastrous.

  His stomach ached, his head spun and he realized he hadn't eaten. Michael forced himself back into the crowd. He'd eat then text Angel. They would talk and everything would work out.

  "Just like that," he said when he passed a man selling cheap toys that lit up, spun, and swirled like magic.

  "Seeing is believing…" he heard the man say.

  Michael watched a young boy snatch a light up—a plastic sword—and slash the air so it made a swooshing sound. The man caught Michael's eye, smiled then turned back to the captivated crowd of kids and parents.

  When Michael passed the rickety Ferris wheel, he imagined getting stuck top with Angel—high in the night, high on being close to each other, touching, kissing, way up there. His stomach dropped. For the briefest moment Michael felt free, the fantasy of being with Angel made him happy. He smiled, looked up, and watched the wheel turn and turn until he got dizzy.

  "Michael?"

  Michael spun to find his mother and her friend Ro staring at him.

  "What are you looking at?" his mother asked.

  "Nothing."

  "How are you, Michael?" Ro asked.

  "Good, Mrs Turner. How are you?"

  "Fine. Your mother dragged me out to play Bingo. They do a late night game tonight. All funds go to the fire station, of course.

  "Of course," Michael's mother agreed.

  "I think my mother wishes I were a firefighter," Michael said.

  "I wish you were doing something safe," his mother replied.

  Michael sighed. He wasn't in the mood for an argument.

  Mrs. Turner looked uncomfortable. "I'm surprised you're not with Bertram."

  Michael scanned the crowd as though Angel were right behind the women.

  "Why aren't you with him? He's stuffing his face over at one of the food stands," Michael's mother said.

  "I was actually thinking about grabbing a bite," Michael stepped past them and leaned over and kissed his mother's cheek. "Good luck, ladies, enjoy the game."

  "Michael, are you all right?"

  Michael didn't answer his mother but hurried into the crowd. He wanted to find Angel.

  He went to every stand and each time was disappointed.

  When Michael approached the last place, selling burgers and fries—two of Angel's favorite things—he recognized the woman working the cash register as a fellow officer.

  "Loring? What are you doing here?"

  The woman, a little older than Michael, smiled. "Hey, Carmac, I haven't seen you since the academy. How've you been?"

  "Tired," Michael answered. "You? How's life in the big city."

  She laughed. "Same. I'm here helping my brother. I just saw Angel. I was surprised you weren't with him."

  "You see where he went?"

  "Nope, you hungry?"

  Michael shrugged, and continued scanning the crowd. Angel had to be somewhere.

  "Hey, Kenny, make Officer Carmac a double!"

  Michael turned his attention to the young guy putting patties on a grill. "A double?"

  "If Angel can handle it, so can you," Loring said.

  "Yeah, well, Angel eats like a he's never seen food before." Michael smiled. He thought of the many meals he shared with Angel.

  "You sure you're okay?" Loring leaned close. "It wasn't your fault, Carmac."

  Before Michael could speak, Kenny came over and put a massive burger between them.

  He took the monstrous sandwich. "Christ, it's huge."

  "On the house," Loring said. "You take care."

  "I'm trying," Michael said.

  He walked, ate, and looked for Angel. He sent a couple texts and called, but never got a reply.

  I shouldn't have walked away.

  Michael reached the edge of the carnival grounds and stared out at the darkness, which seemed all the darker because of the light coming from the festivities. He could make out the outlines of cars parked in the high school parking lot in front of him, bathed in the weak orange glow of distant street lamps. To the right of the school was the track and a few people were lingering around the walkways leading down to the track and up to the tennis courts. Angel wasn't there. He took another bite and headed toward the parking lot.

  Michael stopped near the track to finish eating; he hated when his truck smelled like food. Every time someone passed, he'd stare, hoping it might be Angel. He'd just taken the last bite of the burger when a man's voice cut through the night. At first he couldn't be sure if it was the sound of someone in trouble or a festivalgoer shrieking from the thrill of a carnival ride.

  He tossed the paper plate in a nearby trashcan and listened. People passed by, whispering and chatting. Cars started and accelerated in the parking lot to the left of the track. A thousand sounds hit him, but he listened for one in particular. Several moments passed…nothing.

  "Come on, Mikey," he heard Angel say. "You're hearing things that aren't there, imaginary thugs behind every tree…"

  "Angel?" Michael scanned the dark cluster of trees lining the track, but no one appeared.

  "Now I'm really crazy," he said, shaking his head.

  A car alarm started. He jumped and when it was silenced, he heard it, the man's voice, this time angry and loud. There were other voices now rising and falling—indistinct but edged with rage.

  Instinctively Michael reached for his waist then realized he didn't have his gun. It wasn't with him. He thought momentarily of running to his truck and grabbing whatever he had there, but something told him there wasn't time. The closer he got, the more certain he was that there was some sort of struggle going on. He could also hear the excitement coming from the festival. He moved closer and realized that there was a small group of what he guessed were men behind the bleachers—the exact place where only a little while ago Angel had asked him to go.

  Angel!

  The shadows lunged and there was more noise, that same grunt, and the air smelled metallic. Michael knew the smell of blood—and worse. He crouched behind the announcer's tower then leaned out far enough that he could see two men wearing masks ho
lding Angel while another man beat him with a massive plank of wood.

  Michael looked beyond them to where the old bleachers were in the process of being disassembled. He assumed that was where Angel's assailant had gotten the board. There was little light, due to the sporadically spaced lamps that lit the track. As luck would have it, the bleachers were between two of the lamps, neither giving enough light to distinguish who the attackers were, but Michael had a good idea. They were casting distorted shadows, the masks making them look demonic. The man with the wood was wearing what looked like a pig mask. What the fuck?

  "Todd, don't do it, kid." Angel sounded as if he was still trying to negotiate with his attacker. Michael heard the rasp in Angel's voice.

  Todd? Michael's mind raced back through the last few days. That piece of shit from Reggie's stag party.

  He watched as Todd reached back with the board. "You don't know me, pig."

  Michael suddenly stepped from behind the bleachers. "But I do, asshole. Let him go." His voice was sharp and commanding and, for a second, it looked as if Todd was going to do as he'd ordered, but instead, he turned and swung wildly behind him to where he thought Michael had been standing. Michael had always been quick on his feet and had moved slightly to the left of where he'd been. Todd swung so hard with the intention of impact that he lost his balance, failing to connect. Michael didn't miss the opportunity to fall on him with the vicious skill of a man long-trained in combat.

  "You fucking piece of shit," Todd hissed as Michael pinned him beneath his weight.

  "Say that one more time. One more fucking time," Michael said as he slammed the kid's head against the ground with each word. "One more fucking time!" He had ripped the pig mask off and revealed that it wasn't Todd, but Roger Dell. "You," he growled "you motherfucker." He drew a fist back, but before he could unleash his fury, an arm grab him.

  "Mikey," Angel called out. When Michael looked up, he wasn't staring into Angel's face, but Fitzgerald's.

  "I'll take it from here, Carmac."

  *****

  Two days later, Michael found himself sitting in the office of the new psychiatrist.

  "Did you ever hear the term, an Eskimo relationship?"

  Michael shook his head. He was staring at his hands and trying to make them stop twisting over each other like snakes.

  "No," he muttered. He couldn't stop thinking about Angel. Thank God, he was okay. He could still hear Angel saying, "Thank you, Mikey," as he was carried away.

  "An Eskimo relationship is when one person clings to another because there is no one else to cling to. It's cold up in your head, Michael. You have found a way to warm yourself by Bertram's fire and maybe it was this latest incident…" She paused. "It seems your life is full of incidents," she said and Michael couldn't help but nod his tired agreement

  Michael liked this woman, and the kindness in her eyes when she spoke made his hands stop moving. "I'm tired of incidents," he said bleakly.

  "I bet, but that's life, isn't it?"

  "What were you saying about Eskimos?" Michael couldn't bring himself to answer the question and he wasn't sure she wanted him to.

  "You and Angel are more than partners, Michael. He's your friend. He was there with you, he saw the shooting, he witnessed and went through it with you, and I bet he is fighting valiantly to keep you from falling into the hole in the ice. Then you were given this chance. You took it and saved his life; you saved the man who has spent a good part of his time saving you. Many people who go through this kind of ordeal don't have anyone, never mind someone who has gone through it with them and is not only supporting themselves, but also another person. What you have is an incredible connection, and maybe you should think about how fortunate both of you are to have one another in this world where an Eskimo alone could slip and fall into the hole and freeze to death. You've got someone who is willing to drag you out of that hole."

  Michael felt tears burning his cheeks, Angel had saved him and he knew he would have died to save Angel that night. "I needed to save him." Michael's voice cracked when he spoke, but he didn't care. He felt his heart unwinding. "I saw Georgie in Angel's face the other night. I heard and saw the asshole that grabbed him and swore"—he paused to catch his breath—"that I would kill that son of a bitch before he would hurt Angel anymore. When I saw that Angel was okay, I felt closer to the light than I have in a long time."

  When he looked up from his hands, he took a deep inhale, then nodded and said, "Thank you." He stood to leave, but not before making another appointment for the following week.

  "You're going to be all right, Michael," she called out to him as he left the office, and for the first time in a long time, he believed it.

  *****

  Michael's hands were shaking. He was as nervous as the day he'd graduated from the academy. The parking lot of the hospital was packed. He sat in his truck staring at the stupid, stuffed Cop Bear his mother had bought for Angel and at the bag of his partner's favorite junk food next to it. Angel's face had taken quite a beating and he had a couple of cracked ribs that kept him griping and miserable, but there were surprisingly no internal injuries. He would be back to his old self soon enough. Michael missed him—his voice, his smell, and his smile. He couldn't believe he'd be staying at Angel's while his partner mended. His mother and he had stocked Angel's refrigerator and helped Michael clean Angel's house while he was away. His mother enjoyed helping, and Michael noted that they seemed to get along surprisingly well. He did Angel's laundry and often found himself holding one of Angel's T-shirts up to his face, just to take in his scent. He wished he could hold him every time he did this, but now, sitting outside the hospital, he felt shaky and stupidly giddy.

  Michael was brought back to reality by the buzzing of his cell phone.

  "You here?" Angel's husky voice asked.

  Michael noted how tired he sounded. "Yeah, you ready?"

  "All ready. You wanna pull up or you gonna make me hobble over to you?"

  "I didn't know if you needed me to come in. I'll be right there." Michael hung up then slowly pulled out of his spot. A car quickly pulled in after him. He hadn't realized they had been waiting and waved apologetically. When he stopped in front of the hospital, he saw Angel leaning against the side of the building. He was wearing a loose shirt that was unbuttoned enough that Michael could see where Angel was bandaged. He also noticed the pained look on Angel's face.

  "Hey," Michael said as he helped Angel into his truck, "how you doing?"

  "Everything hurts, but it's good to get the hell outta there," Angel said, letting Michael help him. "Take me home."

  "Michael handed Angel the bag of treats. "Here you go, big baby. I got you some junk to eat to keep you from crying too much."

  Angel took the bag from Michael and, before digging inside, he grabbed Michael's hand and squeezed it tight. "I had a lot of time to think in there, Mikey. I have a lot to tell you."

  Michael looked down at their clasped hands then back up at Angel. "Let me get you home."

  Angel nodded. "Yeah, home. That sounds fanfuckingtastic."

  Michael smiled as he pulled his hand away. "You got it."

  They left the hospital and Angel rolled his window all the way down then reached awkwardly to turn the radio up while trying painfully to chew on some beef jerky that he'd pulled from the bag of treats Michael had brought.

  "Shit, sorry. Guess I should've gotten you something softer to eat."

  "It's good," Angel said, wincing, "I asked for it. So how's it been at work? They ever catch Todd and the other asshole that was holding me?"

  "It's crazy. Reggie's out of his mind over what happened. Fitz says he's pretty sure he knows who the other guy holding you was. When I first showed up, I thought Todd was the one doing the beating. I should've known he'd be too much of a chicken shit to wield a weapon. How about Roger Dell, though?"

  "Yeah, well, you just never know about people," Angel replied. Michael saw he had given up on the jerky and was ope
ning a package of sponge cakes.

  "You disappointed?" Michael asked, knowing that Angel's connection to the community had always meant a lot to him and hoped this betrayal hadn't sunk his ship.

  "No," Angel said, Michael looked over and saw him staring out the window. His face was thoughtful. "I think I'm lucky."

  "But—" Michael started to say, but Angel interrupted him.

  "Mikey, do you really want to know why Todd Goyen is a cop hater?"

  Michael looked quickly at Angel and nodded, "Hell yes, I want to know. I don't understand why this happened, Angel."

  Angel let out a long sigh before he started talking. "This shit goes back way before you and I were on the force, back to when Todd and Dawn were kids—something about their dad getting mixed up in some dealings with the old sergeant before Kinter."

  Michael could see Angel was struggling to get comfortable and tried to stop him from saying more, but Michael fell silent when Angel continued. "They lost their house. Mrs Goyen took off with the sergeant. I mean, it goes on and on and I'm too damn tired to give a shit right now."

  "What about Dell?" Michael asked.

  "Mikey, I don't fucking know. This town has a bunch of bored-ass kids running around just looking for trouble. Roger Dell and the other idiot were probably just along for the ride. Maybe Roger was pissed because I fucked with him in the beer line and always give him a hard time on the streets. Maybe he didn't know what was gonna happen until he was already in too deep. Shit, maybe Todd paid him to help beat the crap outta me. You think I'm in the mood to figure out Roger Dell's motives right now?"

  Michael could tell Angel had gotten agitated and wisely decided not to mention that he'd had a feeling about Roger Dell the night Angel had been attacked. "It'll get handled," Michael said as soothingly as possible. "You know Fitz. He's like a bloodhound. Reggie put the wedding off. Charges are flying around. We'll have to go to court. Kinter's eyes are never off me."

  "So all's status quo," Angel joked.

  "Yeah," Michael added, "but one thing is new." He looked over at Angel, who met his eyes with a question.