Not good. And again with the confiding. I almost wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Now I'd have to figure out how to tell the captain.
At the thought, his mouth snapped shut and he gave me a look of alarm. "You don't want me to talk? But you said I should talk."
"Uh … I do. I'm not sure how to fix it, but I do want you to talk," I said as slowly and calmly as I could. "The captain is worried about you. He thinks he frightens you. He really wants this to work, so it kind of hurts him that you feel that way."
"He's a very angry, intense man," said Skyler, looking away again.
"Most cops are. But that doesn't make them abusive. He said you did great today. Really great — opening up new angles on two stalled cases. It might not hold up in court, but your lie detecting is good enough to get a lot done at the precinct. Maybe eight hours a day is too much, or you need more breaks, or fewer people around to radiate anger. Whatever you need, if we can figure it out and find a way to present it appropriately — not like a demand, but just something to help you — then you can get it. I'm telling you, this is a big deal to the department. Yeah, we've got some assholes here, but most of us? We just want to fix the world, even the most grizzled and disillusioned of us.
"You can help us, Skyler. Every time you point out a lie from somebody we couldn't get a fix on — or a truth — it's a big deal to us. Something more concrete than a hunch, an excuse to dig, and an angle to investigate. So yes, this is hard for you, but we want it to work. We want to support you, okay? I know you can tell I mean this. I do. Maybe we'll be able to prove that we can actually do it, too, if you give us a chance."
The kid was just looking at me, lips parted, staring.
"Uh, what?" I began to feel uncomfortable under that gaze.
"You're so sure everyone will support me. But you don't feel safe coming out there. So why would it be different for you?" He looked down and picked at his trouser leg near the knee. He seemed honestly confused about this.
I shrugged, trying to put it into words without getting into a whole big thing about it. "They know you're gay — but also that you bring something special to this force. I don't; I'm just a regular cop. If I'd wanted to be out and proud, I would've done it years ago. But I don't. I don't want to deal with the bullshit, and there's no reason for me to come out. I like my closet. It's cozy in there."
I grinned to show him I wasn't annoyed with the question, and he looked as though he could tell it was a sort of painful topic for me. He nodded like he understood.
"Hey, you should know. I'm supposed to keep an eye on you for the captain. He wants to know anything important I learn that will help you settle in and be able to work here. So let me know if you tell me anything you don't want to get back to him — or if there's anything you do want to get back to him. I can help figure out how to let him know in the best way. Like today, maybe you needed more breaks, and should've asked for them. I can suggest something to him that you think might help, any time you want."
He smiled at me shyly and sweetly, one dimple showing on his cute cheeks, and nodded. He had such perfect bone structure, such big, tentative eyes, now warm from his smile, and his tousled curls looked good even after a long day. He really was too cute to be real.
"Um. Thank you. I … thanks." He held out a hand tentatively. "And … call me Sky. That's what my friends call me."
I grinned and shook his hand gently in return. "I'm called Hunt."
"I know," he said.
#
After that, Sky and I worked together on how to figure out what he needed and how best to approach the captain with it. No matter how much he psyched himself up to it, Sky couldn't seem to talk to Captain Quill about feelings or what he needed, or anything, really. He felt humiliated and sick with himself every time he tried and failed.
I maintained go-between status. Quill liked the kid, in his own gruff way, and after grumbling and thinking aloud, was usually willing to try whatever Sky needed.
I took him shopping that first weekend so he could get the things he needed, and he soon settled in with me at my place, even helping out as I fixed things up. He made a mean pot of coffee, and could cook a few simple meals. We traded off on the nights when we didn't eat out or have fast food.
He seemed quieter and more peaceful at home when we started to settle in together. He could sit on the couch with his legs tucked up beside him and smile up at me peacefully as he ate his dinner.
He liked TV, but he was also a fan of books. I often found him asleep on the couch in the mornings, a book fallen halfway out of his hands.
I was becoming domestic as hell. I hadn't gone out for a hookup since his arrival. I was even planning to buy him an e-reader the first chance I got. Christmas or his birthday, if I could winkle it out of him.
He could be a frightened mass of nerves when it came to work, but more and more, he settled in.
He did better with people one-on-one or in small groups. The main room was agony for him. A birthday party we threw for one of the sergeants was torture. Nobody used him as a party trick, but even just spending time talking to people in the crowd, surrounded by their strong emotions and curiosity, was painful for him — more than he could really bear.
I found him at last waiting by the car, smoking desperately. I hadn't seen him smoke up till then, and he hid the butt guiltily, as if he was afraid I was going to scold him. I hated the lost, panicky look in his eyes, like there was a sadness and fear that never really went away, just sometimes lurked closer to the surface.
But more and more, as we spent time together, he didn't seem broken. He seemed like a sweet and sensitive guy who was still getting a handle on his job and his abilities.
While his true/false measurements were without parallel, and were really all he was certified for, his other readings seemed to be hit or miss. At times, he could practically hear what people were thinking. Other times it was all a quagmire of pain and a haze of emotion that overwhelmed his senses.
He wasn't used to having people believe him. There was a tentativeness about him whenever he said something, and he needed to be drawn out sometimes to share his impressions. The captain always wanted these recorded, even knowing they might be hit or miss. He had a way of staring very intensely at Sky while he waited for him to come up with the words. It unnerved Sky and made him freeze up, drop things, and stutter.
Without quite knowing how it happened, I became more or less his interpreter. If I was around, people got me to talk to Sky. He was easier with me, a level of comfort that came from our being around each other constantly and having a certain amount of trust. He could turn to me and say softly about a suspect, "It's true, he doesn't know. But I think he might know who knows," and I'd nod and jot that down.
We were starting to trust that Sky would excuse himself before he had a breakdown if he got overwhelmed. (Which Sky did — often hiding out in the bathroom till he could psych himself back up to dealing with interrogations again.)
The captain wanted to know Sky's empathic limits, when everything was working at its best.
To keep things low-key and low-pressure, I came up with an idea of making it a kind of game. People around the precinct could practice trying to deceive one another, while Sky watched and got impressions about it. With answers that weren't strictly false but not the whole story, it was a good way to practice his empath skills and how we understood them.
The cops had fun with it, getting to bullshit each other, and Sky and I watched from behind glass while he tried to tentatively put into words what he was getting from them. It was easier to figure it all out when we knew what was going on behind the scenes and could check his impressions against the actual facts afterwards.
The captain liked to sit in on these sessions and get a feel for Sky's work. With some practice, Sky was able to handle it. He was still the shyest, quietest person I'd ever worked with. Sadly, even when he knew something for certain, he was tentative about saying it. It made me hate everyone who had
beaten him down over the years and had shown him in one way or another that he was wrong, untrustworthy, and not worth listening to.
I tried to keep the negative emotions to a minimum around him, though. He picked up on them far too quickly. I noticed I'd changed my bearing, attitude, and stance when I was with him. I softened myself, kept my voice low, and didn't swagger and strut.
My fellow cops noticed it, too. They called me his keeper, and him my pet fag — you know, the regular bullshit. I hadn't expected anything different and let it roll off my back, as long as they didn't say anything like that to him. He was too fragile and gentle to be bullied about not being butch enough. He had plenty to deal with already.
It soon came to me that he didn't like sleeping in his room. I found him on the couch far too often, although I couldn't figure out why. There were enough other things going on in our lives that I didn't know if I should push it by asking, but I finally did.
He gave me a guilty look and gulped. Really, his eyelashes were absurdly long. "It's too … um…" He shrugged. "I really don't … like being closed in anywhere."
"So leave the door open. Or isn't that it?" I stared at him, trying to figure it out.
He blushed, looking down at his sneakers. "I don't … I don't know. It's so…" He shrugged helplessly. "I just wake up and it's…" He raised his hands. "I don't know. I panic and think I'm back at the … the mental hospital again. And then I can't get back to sleep again all night, even once I know I'm not really there. It's easier to sleep on the couch with the TV on low and a book and lots of space around me."
"Sorry." I didn't know how to fix that, but it made me feel awful for him. "Do you want to have the bed down here instead, maybe? So you don't wreck your back on the couch?"
Relief touched his gaze, shy and grateful. "You wouldn't mind?"
I said of course I wouldn't, and we moved the bed down that afternoon, shifting it awkwardly and stubbing our elbows, knees, and funny bones far too much in the process. He was stronger than he looked, and held up his end fairly well, but he was anxious and awkward and terrible at this.
He was pretty good at stripping wallpaper, though, and helping me fix up various rooms. He didn't seem to mind helping, because he was always calm and relaxed about it, if a little distracted sometimes. I had to remind him what we were doing on occasion, or that he shouldn't leave a hammer in the middle of the walkway, stuff like that. But overall, I found him the most genial houseguest I'd ever lived with, and we got along well together.
He was handsome, in a cute puppy way, with a vulnerability about him that never really went away. I was always pleased to see him smile. It happened more as he began to settle into the job.
There were moments where he was so breathtakingly beautiful I couldn't breathe. From certain angles, he reminded me sometimes of a model, all lean and muscular and pretty, with a vulnerability that would've translated well to art for a trained photographer. I admit it: sometimes I stopped and stared, completely blown away by his beauty.
And he always blushed scarlet, and then we'd go back to whatever we were doing and pretend it hadn't happened.
Yeah, he was definitely aware that I found him attractive, but neither one of us suggested doing anything about it. I still felt like his protector, an older-brother kind of guy who needed to be here for him as much as I could be. I might find him awkwardly attractive, but it would be a really, really bad idea to date someone I worked with while living with him and trying to remain in the closet. So our relationship stayed platonic. It had to.
#
"Captain wants you," said Officer Guerediaga, trailing past as I hung up my jacket on the back of my chair.
It had been a long patrol, I was sticky with sweat, and I'd made a mess of the donut I'd eaten. My shirt was sticky with its sugar. I was just getting ready to head for a much-needed stop at the men's room. I did not want to face my captain.
I got up and went in there. "Sir?"
"Siddown." He tapped his desk and the papers on it, frowning his thoughtful frown.
Sky was sitting in a second seat. He gave me an apologetic look. He was looking groomed and prim in his cute flannel shirt and slim, boot cut jeans. Even in this outfit, and with the little moustache he was trying to grow, he just didn't look anywhere near butch. He looked like what he was, a cute gay guy. And right now he looked like he was holding his breath, feeling apologetic for even being alive.
I sat down. "Sir?" I hoped Quill would finish up soon because I really needed to use the bathroom, get a shower, and have something real to eat. That awful donut had worn off ages ago. And I still had two more reports to write up.
Sky shifted uncomfortably and stared down at his thighs. He was probably picking up on my discomfort. That would be like him. He was very aware of people even when he wasn't working. It made his life difficult. I tried to think happy thoughts for his sake. Not sure how well I did.
"Okay. I've been studying the rankings, and with the way Zane is learning to use his skills, he could easily test as a Three or even Two on good days." Quill looked at me, serious, even freaked out. "And that's to go no further, do you hear me? From now on, we'll put nothing but the true and false answers in the records. If the ESRB learns Zane could go up the rankings, they'll want to take him away, retest, retrain, and probably reassign him to more important work."
"No!" said Sky, a shocked little gasp. "They — they can't!"
I could see his panic spiking, a humiliated, appalled look crossing his face as his eyes flitted from the captain to me, appealing to us.
"That's why we're keeping it private," said Quill. "You need stability, and we need your skills here. There's no telling you'd do as well elsewhere anyhow. You wouldn't have Hunter here to help." He jerked his chin at me. "But just to be clear, to stay safe, we won't discuss his greater skills anymore. Everything but true and false will be spoken aloud only from now on, not kept in written records. We'll use the hints and hits we get, but we won't record them."
I shifted uncomfortably. Still needed to go to the bathroom. "I got it, Captain. Will do."
"Sir," he said, scowling at me with a "you're getting too big for your britches" glower.
"Yes, sir," I said, and sighed inwardly, because it was clear I'd be here for another ten minutes while he went over all this stuff again.
Sky popped to his feet. "Sir, can we go home? It's been a long day. But I promise I'll do better and not look like I'm very good if someone important is around."
Quill seemed to be controlling himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose. I realized he was trying not to snort derisively. "Yeah. Head home." He looked at me. "I'm not worried about Zane looking too impressive. I just don't want any bragging, written records, or anyone doing anything to draw attention from the bureau. If they're curious, they'll find out. But there's no need to make them curious."
"Yes, sir." I got to my feet. At his dismissal, I headed to the bathroom quickly.
When I got back, Sky was nowhere in sight, but he had left word that he was outside waiting for me. I grabbed my stuff and some reports to finish up at home, and then headed out, keys jingling.
He wasn't there. Usually he'd be lingering by the door, or leaning against the car, or guiltily sneaking a smoke around the corner.
I checked, but he wasn't any of those places. "What the hell. Sky?" I called, raising my voice. "Zane. C'mon. No games."
It wasn't like him to hide. I looked for another minute, but nothing. I wasn't seeing him.
I called his cell phone, but he wasn't picking up, and I didn't hear it ringing, either. I looked around, a creepy feeling crawling up and down my spine. This was unlike him. He'd been doing so well lately, and even on bad days, he was always eager to go home. He never wandered off like this. I hadn't been long in the bathroom, so what was the problem?
I headed back inside, starting to get worried now. "Did Zane come back inside?" I asked the desk sergeant, Klein. "I was supposed to drive him home, but he's not out there."
"Did he take off?" Klein smirked.
"Come on. I need to find him."
"Well, he didn't mince this way."
I scowled and started back inside.
"Need to wipe his ass for him?" Klein called after me tauntingly. "Or maybe fuck it?"
I flipped him the bird and kept walking.
"Seen Sky?" I asked Johnston. "I can't find him. He doesn't pull shit like this."
She stared at me, pursed her lips, and then swiveled her seat and got up. "Let's tell the captain and get everybody looking for him. He's a valuable resource, and he's vulnerable."
"Wait, you think somebody snatched him?"
"Don't you?" she asked crisply, and headed towards Quill's office at double speed.
I followed, feeling an icy numbness starting in my guts. Sky was my buddy now. He was a resource, yeah, but he was also my friend, and I felt extremely protective of him. It made my day when I could make him giggle or even just smile. And even on his good days, he was a sensitive soul. He did not need the terror of a snatch-and-grab to add to his collection of bad memories.
If he even survived.
Tell me it's not a snatch and grab, I thought helplessly. Tell me that. C'mon, Sky! Be safe.
While we reported to the captain, I kept trying his cell phone and getting nothing.
The captain was alarmed enough to put out a BOLO on him and pull up all video footage for the parking lot. He had immediately thought of something that hadn't occurred to me — which might be why I was in uniform and he was the captain.
"Pull records on his abusive ex-boyfriend," ordered Quill. "See if he's out of jail yet. If he is, and there's any indication he's in the area, he could've snatched Zane."
I sat very still for a moment, ice freezing my spine. "Would he kill him, sir?"
SAFE (Men of the ESRB Book 1) Page 3
