"Which?" I asked calmly. "Coffee, or food?"
Skyler clicked his seatbelt on and looked at me with a slack, pale face, looking lost and stressed, as if he'd passed his emotional limits long ago. "I don't…" He shook his head slightly, making his cute curls bob. For a basket case, he sure washed up nice.
"Listen, do you want me to decide? You can just go along for the ride. I'll look after you — grab us some fast food and then get you settled in at my place. There's a room you can use. We'll have to share a bathroom, but it shouldn't be too bad."
I waited for a response, but none came. Skyler just stared at me.
"Anything you're allergic to? Is McDonald's food okay?"
He nodded, looking slightly relieved.
"Great. I'll order burgers, fries, and salad. If you want something else, just tell me when you think of it."
Not waiting for a response, and not looking at Skyler anymore — who'd been giving a pretty good imitation of a deer in headlights — I started the car and drove.
It was a long drive, and a silent one, except for hitting the McDonald's on the way.
Zane never spoke up asking for anything different. Just to be on the safe side, I ordered some nuggets and a milkshake, too. No telling what the guy would actually be willing to eat. I would try taking him to a diner soon, to see if that worked better. Right now, the empath looked like he just needed to crash, and quick.
#
He seemed slightly less jittery by the time we'd eaten the fast food. After that, I showed him the house quickly and set up his bedroom. He followed me, nervous and watchful but very quiet, as I put clean sheets on the bed in the little spare room. It was a good thing I'd had this room already made livable. What would we have done if it wasn't fit for human habitation yet?
But I'd been working on the upstairs, and aside from needing some painting and window fixing, it was good to go. I even had a small twin bed there, just waiting for sheets. Which I also had on hand. Lucky. And sort of important in case I had guests. I had a bunch of cousins who seemed to think it was a good idea to drop in sometimes, so I'd needed some place for them unless I wanted them climbing into my bed and making themselves comfy because it was "just us guys anyhow." Yeah.
After setting up his room and making sure he had his bags, I offered him full use of the living room TV and told him he could come and get me if he needed anything at all. Then I went back to work stripping wallpaper in one of the downstairs rooms.
He watched TV while I worked, and after a while, I got hungry again and asked if he'd like to go out and have something. He shook his head quickly, and I said, "How about canned soup and sandwiches?"
He agreed to that.
My new buddy Mr. Talkative had watchful green eyes, vulnerable and always wary. I felt myself softening towards him the more I was around him. I tried to be extra nice to him without being creepy or seeming like I was trying to come on to him — careful of his personal space, asking his preferences but not pressuring him to answer. By bedtime, I'd gotten two or three words out of him that didn't feel like they'd given him any panic to say. It felt like an accomplishment.
Morning told me a different story, though. I got up, scratching myself, yawning, wondering if I'd have to wake my houseguest up or if I'd get to take a shower first and start the coffee.
Instead, who should I see sitting at the kitchen table but my new buddy Skyler, his slender hands wrapped around a large mug. He was fully awake, dressed in the same outfit as yesterday, looking jittery and scared. His eyes were big and tragic.
"What?" I asked as I grabbed a quick cup of coffee. "Didn't sleep?"
He shook his head and gripped his mug tighter.
I smothered a yawn. "I gotta shower and get ready to go. You want me to let the captain know you're not up for it? Haven't settled in yet?"
His eyes got bigger. He hesitated, then shook his head. "I don't think he'll let me stay, if I do that. I feel like I'm too much trouble to him already."
"Believe me, he wants to keep you working here." I went into the bathroom.
When I emerged, showered and shaved and dressed, he was still sitting there, staring at his coffee. The coffeemaker was perking again. "Did you drink the whole pot?" I asked.
He nodded, staring down at it. "I made you more."
"Hey, are you all right? Is it just because everything's different, or is something wrong?" I grabbed the pot and poured, then jammed it back into the coffeemaker again so it could continue to fill, now with a sizzle. I eyed him, raising my brows questioningly.
He raised and lowered his shoulders. "I'm anxious, I guess."
"Didn't they have anything to help you with that? You know, therapy, medication, something?"
His eyes darkened for a moment with some intense feeling I couldn't read.
I drank my coffee hot and black. "What?"
"I don't, ah, I don't like pills," he mumbled, staring down into his mug. "I won't take them. Not even painkillers if I can help it."
"So … therapy?"
He shrugged. "I'm sure they'll refer me to someone. I'm not sure if they can make me go, or if it would help." He tried to flash me a bright smile, but it looked sick and frightened.
"Okay, well, I'm here. I'll listen. Is there something you need to get off your chest?"
"I'm just … I'm just scared about this. It's new and … pretty intense. I'm not sure I'll do okay. A lot of pressure, you know?"
It was reeled off quickly, and I stared at him, not quite buying it.
He gave a fake laugh, unconvincing at best. "What?"
"Is it me? Do I make you nervous?" I asked in a flat voice. "Because I'm planning to be totally professional. I have nothing against you, and I won't behave in ways that make you uncomfortable. If I cross any lines for you, you need to tell me and I'll fix it."
"No. You…" He looked startled, and shook his head slowly. "You're great. I'm sorry. We should go."
"I'm not gonna have you give yourself a heart attack or some kind of nervous breakdown if there's something I can do. Do you need a day to settle in? Do you need something? Let me know. I'll try to help."
He looked at me with his big pleading eyes, wanting something desperately. I still saw the bleak fear there. But he just shook his head. His hands on the mug were trembling a little.
I shrugged. "All right. Can only do what I can do." I put my mug in the sink, grabbed some toast, and soon we were on our way.
"Please don't be angry. You're great, okay?" he said softly, reaching out to touch my arm as we walked to the car.
"Okay. Do you want to learn to drive soon? We can work on it — or find somebody else to help you learn," I added quickly, since it seemed like maybe I wasn't his favorite person right now.
"Not ready yet," he mumbled. "Maybe…" He shuddered, a whole body shudder that made me wonder what was going on — and also, strangely, what he looked like without clothes on. He was really a very handsome guy.
I wondered if I should broach the whole "gay but not out" subject, but decided to leave it for now. We clearly weren't letting our hair down for each other, and it didn't appear to be a pressing issue.
When we parked, I didn't shut the engine off immediately. "Look," I said. "If something's wrong, if somebody does something or … I don't know … scares you. You can come to me. I mean it. I'll help."
I turned to look at him and saw him staring at me with his lips parted, an unfathomable expression on his face, but almost … filled with wonder and surprise. I felt my face heating.
Well, what was I supposed to do? I knew the captain would stick up for him, but I could also tell Quill intimidated the hell out of Skyler Zane. It might be easier to approach the guy who drove him to and from work. I looked him straight in the eye, ignoring my own discomfort. "You'll get through this. You'll see."
"It's not my first precinct," he blurted. He turned beet red. "I'm not sure how many more chances I'll have."
We stared at each other. "Did you fail at the truth barometer stuff
?" I asked levelly.
He shook his head quickly, his breathing too fast, his eyes a little wild. "I'm … I'm a mess. I'm scared shitless most of the time. I'd get out of the interview room and vomit and … it was messy. Just … messy." He shuddered.
I pictured him projectile vomiting all over the room, and raised an eyebrow.
He flushed. "I … I mean, everybody made me nervous. I just … I didn't handle teasing and … you know … the masculine bull crap stuff very well. And … and some of them kind of did want me to suck their dicks. They weren't just trash talking."
I made a sound in my throat and started to raise a hand. "Nobody'll do that here."
He slumped down in his seat, shuddering a little, seeming to shrink in on himself, and his arms went around himself. "I wasn't acting right. And … it got worse. The captain there sent me back. He said some awful things. True things. But mean anyway. They didn't want a little … you know … there … and stuff like that."
He took a deep breath. "Some of that wasn't my fault, so the ESRB sent me here. But I know I might not get many more chances. And I'm so freaked out, I feel like my chest is too tight. I can't breathe or sleep or think. I just don't want that to happen again — the teasing, the vomiting, the sexual stuff. It makes me so sick."
"We all want you to succeed here," I told him as gently as I could.
He was already shaking his head. "No. No, a lot of people want me gone. I felt it on the walk-through."
Where he'd not looked at anyone. Not even gotten close to anyone. Shit, he had strong senses after all. It gave me an idea.
"Okay, well, if you can tell from not-so-close, can you tell about an interrogation without sitting in the same room? Maybe from behind the two-way mirrors?"
He hesitated. His lips parted, and he cast me a desperate look. He nodded, like even that scared him. "Do you have to tell anyone?"
"If it keeps you from vomiting from stress, yeah. You don't need to lose any weight," I added, in what I hoped was a friendly, teasing manner.
He smiled, so I thought maybe I'd managed it. He had a nice smile. It made his whole face look better, more the way he ought to look.
"All right, I'll talk to the captain about that, and see what we can do. If you have any trouble, you can come to me, the captain, or Johnston. I think you'll find most of us will be glad to help. Okay?" I tried to meet his gaze, make him promise. "Will you come to me if you need help?"
He nodded, almost against his will, frowning a little. "I don't want to make it worse."
"What worse?"
His gaze flicked to me, then away. "You know," he mumbled, turning red. "Don't make me say it."
My neck prickled. "You … ah … mean … for me?"
He nodded. "I won't tell anybody, I promise." His voice was small and scared now, and I couldn't help thinking of what the captain had said about Skyler having an abusive boyfriend. He shouldn't have to be scared of telling things, or feeling like he had to keep secrets.
All the same, I was grateful. When had he figured out my gayness, and my closeted status?
"Thanks," I said a little gruffly. "And I'm not putting the moves on you, okay? I'm really just trying to help."
"I know." He sounded a little … disgusted, maybe? Fed up with himself, or possibly me. He rolled his eyes. "I know I'm pathetic, okay? I really do know." He got out of the car and shut the door firmly, then headed into the precinct ahead of me, head tucked low, hands stuffed in his skinny jeans pockets.
Once I had him in Laura's capable hands, ready to continue her tour, I caught his eye and gave him a look that I hoped he could interpret as "Remember, I'm here." Then I went in to report to the captain.
I mentioned that he was having a hard time adjusting so far, and was really nervous about failing — and feeling that at least some of us didn't want him here. That let me lead into the idea of having him check for truthfulness from behind the two-way mirrors, since apparently he was strong enough to sense from not so close.
The captain seemed interested and was willing to try it.
"He didn't do anything that made him seem like a danger to himself last night, did he? I'm obliged to ask. If he kills himself while working with us…" Quill let his voice trail off. I got the impression shit would really hit the fan.
"No, sir, and I don't think he's a danger to himself. But he seemed stressed, scared, and really insecure. I wish we could help."
The captain grunted. "Maybe time will do it."
"Maybe," I agreed, feeling less than optimistic.
#
I had to go out on patrol right away, so I didn't get to see the kid again. However, as I was writing up my reports and filling out my forms, somebody stopped over at my desk. "Captain wants to see you. It's about the fag."
I raised a brow, because really? Hadn't we just had that talk? But I finished up and went.
"Sir?" I asked, and waited to be told off, consulted, assigned something, or asked to sit down because it was really serious. I never could quite get over being scared about seeing the captain, even though he hadn't so far found out about my being gay and found a reason to fire or transfer me. There was always a first time. Hell, there was probably only one time — and then the rest of my life to deal.
"Good call about the kid," said the captain, glancing up from his paperwork on the desk. "He handled it better behind the glass, and his readings were clear enough."
I smiled, feeling the whole day get better. He looked up at me then and his eyes narrowed. "You gonna be able to keep him for longer? I'm not turning up any great locations he can stay at, and transportation is going to be an issue till he has his shit together and gets a car and a license."
"Yes, sir." That wiped the smile off my face pretty damned quick. "If it's a help, of course I can."
"Good. You'll have a stipend to cover his food and housing and some money towards gas. We'll take care of it. But I want to know if he starts acting suicidal."
I nodded. I couldn't speak now.
The captain continued. "Today was tough on him. I couldn't get a word out of him except telling me when the suspect was telling the truth or lying. He was white as a sheet by the end of the day, and looked ready to drop. But he won't tell me what's wrong, so I can't help."
He scowled. "If he trusts you enough to let you know what's wrong, let me know. He helped us find major leads in two cases in one day. We were almost at a dead end on both, and now we're not. This has got to work." He shrugged his heavy shoulders. "But I scare the shit out of him, apparently. And maybe you don't."
He gestured impatiently for me to sit down. I did so, cautiously.
"Thoughts. Suggestions. Impressions. Give me something here," said the captain, sounding impatient. I thought it was really because he was worried, though. It wasn't personal. He really, desperately, wanted to make this work.
I spoke cautiously, feeling my way into this awkward conversation. "You'd think an empath would know you don't mean him any harm."
"Yeah, but he's only a Four. And he ended up with an abusive asshole who sent him to the hospital, so maybe he's just a really terrible judge of people. Even if he can tell whether they're lying or not."
I nodded. Hell, nothing about being a cop really made life easier. Maybe it was the same for an empath. He could tell when people were truthful, but that didn't mean he could tell if they were actually nice people or not. Or whether they were trustworthy. Someone might say something, mean it, and still let you down later.
I was well aware that Skyler had confided in me already, but pretty sure he wouldn't do it again if I told the captain everything right away. And Zane would almost certainly find out sooner or later if I did. Hell, letting the captain know he might be able to get a reading from the next room might've already been too much. I'd get a handle on how he was doing when I drove him back home. I hoped he wasn't going to pout.
"Maybe," continued the captain, "his abuser told him stuff and meant it at the time. That kind of mind fuck would m
ake him doubt his judgment, right?"
"It sounds like that could be it. Uh … so…"
"Yeah. Spit it out."
"Is he going to get any counseling or something, Captain? He told me he won't take drugs. But the guy needs something." I shrugged, spreading my hands.
"Yeah. I'm working on that angle. We'll get him hooked up with somebody who's sensitive as shit. Maybe that'll help him get his ass together." He sighed, sounding frazzled and stressed. "I need this to work."
"I'll help in whatever way I can," I promised.
Why did people have to confide in me? It never ended anywhere good.
"Captain," I added before heading towards the door at his nod of dismissal. "Maybe he just senses your stress levels and it affects him? I mean, I'm not sure how that works, but he's got to be more aware of people's emotions, right? If he can tell you're angry and stressed out, and he's used to people beating him when they feel that way…" I shrugged. "Maybe it's an old trigger. Anger equals pain."
The captain looked ill at the thought. "So I remind him of that sicko. Hell, probably a lot of us do. Huh." He drummed his big fingers on the desk. "Well, I'm not taking up fucking yoga, if that's what you're suggesting. Wish I could do something to that fucker who messed him up, though."
My guess was it had been a long series of events that had messed him up, but I just nodded. "He'll get to know us for the warm and caring precinct we are soon enough," I said.
"Get the fuck out of here." Quill jerked his head to the door.
I got the fuck out of there.
Skyler couldn't wait to leave. He was pale and jittery. "Coffee? Food?" I asked as we drove off.
He nodded, hands clasped too tightly on his knees, looking everywhere but at me.
"Is there something wrong that I can help fix?" I asked cautiously after a few minutes.
He shook his head.
"Are you gonna use your words today, or are they all used up?" I teased gently.
He gave me a quick look and an almost-smile. He sucked on his lips and hesitated. "I don't think I can hack it," he said very softly. "I just kept … feeling like I was going to faint or something." He shook his head. "I almost didn't make it through the day without trying to escape."
SAFE (Men of the ESRB Book 1) Page 2
