Brethren

by Shawn Ryan

  Jason felt his body go cold.

  "What's the matter?" he asked quickly. "Is Dad okay? What's happened?"

  "First of all, let me say that I don't believe your father is in any serious danger. He's in the hospital, apparently suffering from some kind of virus."

  "Apparently?" Jason said. "You're not sure?"

  "To be perfectly honest, no. Your father called me yesterday. He was so weak he could barely talk. It actually took me a moment to recognize his voice. There was no way he could drive, so I called an ambulance. Once we got him here, we ran several tests on him. They all come up negative. It definitely wasn't a heart attack or a stroke. The neurological tests show his system is working fine."

  The doctor paused for a second.

  "It's a strange virus," he said. "I've never seen anything like it. It shows very few outward signs other than complete weakness. Your father spends most of his time sleeping. When he's awake, he's been insistent about calling you. He said he wanted to see if you were all right. Have you been ill or something?"

  Jason hesitated. What could he tell this doctor that wouldn't seem crazy? He decided to lie.

  "Yes, I have. But I'm over it now. Dad is a worrier," he said. "Have you called my sisters about him?"

  "Yes, both of them are coming to see him tonight."

  "Should I fly up?"

  "I don't think that will be necessary. As I said, he doesn't seem to be in any danger. He's just terribly weak. About all we can do is keep a close watch on him and let the virus run its course."

  "How long will that take?"

  "Hard to tell. Most viruses hang on about a week. He's had this for a day or two, so I'd give it another five or so days."

  "Okay, doctor. Thank you for calling. If anything happens, I'd appreciate you calling me immediately."

  Jason hung up and stared into space. He couldn't remember the last time his father had been sick. Where did this virus come from and why couldn't the doctors diagnose it one way or the other? Calling it a virus was very generalized. Jason didn't like it.

  "What's the matter?" Badger said, entering the office with a Coke in each hand. He put one in front of Jason.

  Jason told him about the doctor's phone call.

  "Shit, it's all I need," Jason said. "My father's sick and I need to be up there with him, but I can't leave here right now. Why do these crisis situations always hit at the same time?"

  "You got me," Badger shrugged. "Some sort of cosmic bullshit, I suppose. But the doctor would've told you if your dad was really in bad shape. Besides, your sisters are going up there. And you know your dad will understand why you have to stay here for the time being. It's not as if you have a haircut appointment that you don't want to break."

  Jason nodded without much enthusiasm. As he sat lost in his own feelings of helplessness, the phone rang again.

  "Medlocke," he said.

  "Hi there, this is Alex."

  Badger's eyebrows furrowed as Jason suddenly sat bolt upright in his chair. All traces of fatigue vanished from his face and a smile actually broke across it.

  "Uh, hi. How are you?" Jason stuttered.

  "I'm fine," she said. "I was just calling to see how you guys were doing. After what happened in your office, I kind of feel like part of the action. I read all about the last… uh… development. I'm sorry you couldn't catch the guy."

  "Is that Alex?" Badger mouthed. Jason nodded.

  "Yeah, so are we," he said into the phone. "We don't seem to be getting any closer either. Lots of information, but none of it leading anywhere."

  There was silence on the line and tension rose as the two tried to find something to say to each other. Finally Alex burst out: "How about dinner? I mean, would you like to get something to eat tonight?"

  "Uh, well, I don't know," Jason stammered, shocked by her forthrightness. "This case has me all wrapped up. I'm not sure I can break away for dinner."

  Badger grabbed the phone out of Jason's hand. "Don't listen to him," he said. "Of course he can break for dinner. He needs to break for dinner. He looks like hell and hasn't eaten a decent meal in two days. Take him someplace nice."

  "Give me that phone!" Jason said in a hushed-but-angry tone as he jerked it out of Badger's hand. He put his ear back to the receiver.

  "Well, is he right?" Alex asked with a smile in her voice. "Are you just giving me the runaround?"

  "No, no, I'm not. Really I'm not," Jason said. "It's just that… well…"

  He suddenly realized that he did want to go to dinner and to hell with all the other problems in his life. By God, he needed a few minutes for himself.

  "Okay, you got a deal," he said. "I'll pick you up about seven."

  "Sounds good. Let me give you directions."

  Jason scribbled the directions on a piece of yellow legal paper, then ripped the sheet off and put it in his wallet. "I got it. See you tonight," he said and hung up. "There, now was that so hard?" Badger asked.

  Promptly at seven, Jason knocked on Alex's apartment door, wiping his palms on the sides of his legs immediately afterward. Luckily, he was wearing a pair of black denim Levi's and the sweat stains didn't show. As he heard footsteps approaching from behind the door, he quickly adjusted his gray herringbone sports jacket. It had been a while since he'd worn it and he hoped his quickie ironing job didn't look like a quickie job.

  Alex opened the door. She still was dressed in what Jason assumed were business clothes, a crisp black skirt and fuchsia jacket with a white blouse and tasteful set of gold earrings and a matching necklace completing the ensemble.

  "You're punctual. I like that in a man," she said as she let Jason in.

  "Always ready to make a good impression," he said as he followed her into the kitchen. So far so good. He didn't trip over the doorstep and said something fairly intelligent.

  "Would you like a drink?" she asked. "I ran a little late at work and just got here a couple of minutes ago. I need to throw on another outfit."

  "What for?" Jason said. "The one you have on is fine."

  "Humor me."

  Jason shrugged and smiled.

  "Anyway," she said. "Do you want a drink?"

  "Got a Coke?"

  Alex opened the refrigerator and drew out a can. She handed it to Jason, who popped the top and took a long drink. The carbonation burned his tongue then danced into the back of his throat. It hadn't occurred to him how dry his mouth was.

  "It's obvious you're not from the South," Alex said as she pulled two glasses down from the cabinet and started filling them with ice.

  "Why? What'd I do?"

  "You asked for a Coke, instead of a Co-cola."

  "My jig is up."

  "Well, at least you didn't ask for a pop. I would've had to kick you in the shin if you had."

  "Is that some sort of Southern rule?"

  "Left over from the plantation days and the War of Northern Aggression. I bet you've never dropped salted peanuts into your Pepsi or had an RC and a moon pie, either."

  "Gourmet treats I've lived my whole life without."

  "Well, over dinner I'll dedicate myself to your education," she said. "Do you like pizza?"

  "Of course, I'm just a damned Yankee carpetbagger, not a communist."

  "That's good to know. Listen, I'll just be a minute changing my clothes. Make yourself at home."

  Jason went to the living room and sat down on the couch. The apartment was sparsely furnished, he noticed, a couch, one chair, a coffee table, and a couple of paintings on the wall. But what was there was nice stuff. He pulled up the cushion next to the one he was sitting on. A Park Place label was stitched onto the fabric covering the springs, indicating its level of quality.

  Jason saw no TV, but there were several news magazines—Time, Newsweek, U.S. News & World Report—lying on the coffee table. He was glad to see there also were a couple of copies of Rolling Stone.

  In a set of shelves on the far wall he saw a hefty collection of albums. He got off the couch and star
ted browsing through her collection. It was about as eclectic as his. The only difference, so far as he could tell, was she favored classical over hard rock and heavy metal. As close as she got was a couple of Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith albums.

  She needs a better musical education, Jason decided. "Are you going to criticize my music?"

  Jason turned, ready to tell her that she and he had much the same taste in music. The words caught in his throat. Alex was dressed in a black leather miniskirt and a loose, long-sleeved cotton blouse. The sleeves were rolled up to just below the elbows, exposing tanned arms. The miniskirt revealed long, tanned legs that ended in a pair of open-toed high heels.

  She had applied a thin coat of makeup and a touch of lip gloss and run a brush through her hair. She was the most beautiful thing Jason had been close to in eighteen months.

  "God, you look fabulous," he blurted.

  She blushed slightly.

  "Well, I see being from the North doesn't prevent you from being a Southern gentleman," she said. "You ready?"

  They took Jason's car, Alex providing the directions. Small talk filled the twenty-minute drive and Jason directed it toward Alex.

  She was from Montgomery, Alabama, and had moved to Atlanta about three years before. She chose Atlanta because Birmingham was too close to home and New Orleans was too muggy and too close to hurricanes. She was twenty-six and almost got married when she was twenty. He was the assistant manager of a grocery store and was in line for his own store within a year. But she didn't want to marry someone who was going to keep her in Montgomery or, God forbid, get a transfer to Selma or Dothan. He wanted her to have babies and stay at home, but there were dreams she wanted to chase before she was ready for that. They broke up to much anger and crying on his part and arguments between her and her parents, who thought he was a good, solid boy with his feet on the ground.

  "Feet on the ground is fine," Alex said, "but he was so firmly planted the bottom of his feet had roots."

  The conversation steered away from her and onto him. He told her he was born in New Hampshire but had lived his adult life in Boston, then explained to her why anyone in his right mind would, as she put it, "want to be up to their ass in snow for half the year." He told her he came to Atlanta for the job with the Gwinnett police. He didn't mention Sarah or Claire.

  "Isn't your job kind of depressing?" she asked. "I mean, as a cop you see the worst side of humanity anyway, but as a homicide detective, I guess you really see the slime that crawls out from under rocks."

  "That's a good way to describe it," he said. "It's always bad, but some are worse than others. Like when there's a domestic killing, it's usually more pitiful than sickening because the person who does the killing wishes they were dead after they've done it.

  "Sometimes, though, there are incidents that just make you angry, like if you find the person who did it, you'd kill him right there. I'm surprised there aren't more cops charged with murder, 'cause a lot of us would like to snuff some of the scum we deal with."

  "Really?"

  "Well, we don't sit there quivering in our seats, having to hold ourselves back. But the senselessness and cruelty of some killings boggles your mind."

  "Like the Mercy Killer?"

  "Yeah. Exactly like that."

  They arrived at the restaurant in silence and Jason hoped he hadn't screwed things up by talking about his job. Hell, it depressed him sometimes and he had been doing it for years. A normal person was in no mental shape to handle it. But it felt good to engage in conversation with an interested and intelligent woman.

  Once they sat down, the talk started again, and this time Jason directed it toward more middle-of-the-road topics like music, movies, and books.

  He began to truly enjoy himself. Alex's wit was rifleshot and he worked fast to keep up. He stumbled a couple of times, but thought he was holding his own pretty well for having sat on the bench for almost two years.

  When the waiter came, they ordered a large, thick-crust pizza with pepperoni, black olives, mushrooms, and Italian sausage. Along with the pizza, Alex ordered a light beer and Jason asked for a Coke.

  "No beer?" Alex asked. "How can you have pizza with no beer?"

  Jason shrugged, not really wanting to give the reason, but then seeing no real reason to hide it either.

  "I don't drink," he said. "I had a little problem with it a while back."

  "Oh, I'm sorry," Alex apologized. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. Way to go, Alex. Open mouth, insert foot. Would you prefer if I got a Coke, too?"

  "No, bo. It's okay. Really. Badger drinks beer whenever we watch a football or baseball game and it doesn't bother me at all. It's been so long since I've had a drink, I really don't even have the desire anymore."

  He paused. "You see, I got drunk one afternoon—Badger and I got into a fight about my drinking, actually—and I roared off in my car to the nearest Liquor store. Bought a bottle, chugged most of it then slammed into some guy pulling out of his driveway. Didn't hurt him too much since he was driving an eighteen wheeler, but it almost killed me. I checked into a rehab center the day I got out of the hospital. Been sober ever since."

  "I still feel as if I'm making you uncomfortable, as if I'm making you remember things you don't want to remember," Alex said.

  "Don't be silly. My problems weren't your fault. And if I can't deal with them now, I'm in worse shape than I thought."

  That's all he intended to say. He didn't plan to tell her about his alcoholism and certainly had no plan to spill his guts about Sarah and Claire. He still held the belief that bringing up their deaths would be like ripping a scab off an unhealed wound. He wasn't sure he could stand the pain. And, even if the pain was lessened, talking about it might resharpen its teeth. Better to just leave it lying rather than take the chance, Jason thought.

  But something inside him wanted to talk to Alex. He felt she would understand and not be put off that he was opening himself up so much to a virtual stranger. He wanted her to know him better. Since the death of his family, his life had been a series of emotionally detached, coldly rational, and extremely boring decisions. Maybe it was time to take a chance. If it failed, it failed. He'd survived this long without a woman, he could make it a while longer.

  But dear God he hoped it wouldn't flop.

  "It started when my wife and child were killed in a car wreck," he began.

  He told Alex about the death of Sarah and Claire, how it had made life hard to deal with for several months. He told it in a straightforward fashion. No histrionics; no putting his face in his hands and sobbing. His only outward sign of emotion was the lowering of his voice during the truly painful moments.

  It wasn't as bad as he feared. In fact, it was a relief, like confessing to a petty crime you committed as a teenager. The statute of limitations ran out, but there was always the fear of getting caught. Yet, while there was pain, there also was joy.

  Alex didn't say anything; she just listened. Her eyes were deep and concerned. Jason could see sympathy and compassion rise in them.

  "It's taken me a while to even be able to talk about it," he said at the finish. "In fact, you're the first person who wasn't a close relative or a longtime friend that I've told. Thanks for listening."

  Her left hand reached out across the table and crept into his. Her right rested on top. Jason's eyes, which alternated between looking into hers, looking at the table, and staring sightlessly into space, locked onto hers.

  "I'm glad you did," she said softly, stroking his hand.

  "I hope I haven't offended you," he said. "After all, I hardly know you. I wouldn't blame you if you were put off by all this emotional baggage I'm lugging around. I try not to let it show too much. But you're easy to talk to."

  "My pleasure," she said. "I mean that."

  Jason smiled, still holding her gaze. Without warning, she leaned across the table and kissed him gently but with an underlying passion. He kissed back.

  As they drew away from each other,
they looked up at an embarrassed waiter standing there with the pizza.

  "Don't mind us," Alex said. "We're just getting to know each other."

  "Looks like you're doing a good job," the waiter said as he placed the pizza on the table.

  The rest of the meal was a jumbled joy of conversation to Jason. He and Alex talked like lifelong friends. The ice was not only broken, it was shattered and ground under a heavy heel.

  The drive home was relaxed and cozy. There was no doubt what was coming. The knowledge was exciting and very comfortable. No pretenses needed to be made. Once or twice Jason wondered if he would still know how, but he figured he could wing it.

  He parked his car outside Alex's apartment. They went inside, holding hands, neither speaking. She tossed her purse onto the couch and turned. Her arms enveloped his neck and her mouth met his in a deep, wet kiss. Her tongue darted into his mouth, probed then quickly retreated, only to enter again.

  The blood thudded against his eardrums and he hoped his heart wouldn't race out of control. He felt himself stiffening and Alex pressed her thigh into him, rotating slightly. Jason took a rapid breath through his nose and pressed back. Pulling away, Alex took his hand and led him down the hallway to her bedroom.

  Jason was happy to discover he hadn't forgotten a thing.

  Chapter 19

  « ^ »

  Jason spent that night at Alex's. And the next. And on through the weekend. When he arrived at work Monday morning, he was almost shocked to find a smiling, happy man staring back at him from the bathroom mirror.

  For the next three weeks, however, his happiness with Alex was in direct contrast to the rest of his life.

  Each day he and Badger pored over facts of the serial killings to no avail. Computer programs were useless. Interviews told them nothing. On a hunch, Jason called a few magic stores around Atlanta to see if there were some sort of illusion or trick that could create a green phosphorescent line that appeared and disappeared. No one had heard of anything like that. Badger, meanwhile, called sound equipment retailers in the area to see if there were a type of microphone that could pick up voices from a hundred or so yards away.